Orange Star High School
by Quaxo
Summary: *CONCLUDED* 5/19/03 Epilogue to the events, reflections... just read it, and review if you feel bothered
1. Drawing the Lines of Interaction

God, everyone seems to be doing one of these nowadays, but if you're here, then you're obviously interested, so I won't continue my bitch.  
  
Warning: Author is a pathological liar, I own Dragonball Z. Or do I?  
  
  
  
Orange Star High School, By Sakuya Katsumara  
  
Chapter One: Drawing the Lines of Interaction  
  
Vegeta smacked the alarm on his bedside table off with a sharply. He quickly tumbled out of the small bed and made his way towards the chest of drawers. He grabbed absently inside the drawers, confident that what he blindly chose would match. After all, black never clashed with black.  
  
He made his way into the tiny bathroom, a quick glance in the mirror told he'd chosen one of his tight turtlenecks and a pair of bondage pants. He nodded in agreement with his choice absently, before setting to the task of brushing his teeth.  
  
After spitting out the last disgusting remnants of the minty toothpaste from his mouth, he tried futilely to run a comb through his hair. He needed to get it cut again, unless he wanted to endure 'bush-head' comments from the scum at his High School.  
  
Throwing down the comb with disgust, he made his way into the living room slash kitchen of the apartment, absently reaching down his shirt and pulling out an array of pewter necklaces from underneath the cloth.  
  
The clock told him that the bus he needed to catch was going to arrive in ten minutes. Noticing that his stepfather was not around, he forwent breakfast, grabbed his sack and headed towards the door. He scowled at the note he found stuck there.  
  
'Meet customer at 5 o'clock in the Garden vase, $50'  
  
He sighed deeply and tore the note to shreds, leaving them on the floor. He'd have to vacuum today anyway, no use in wasting the effort of putting it in the trash. He'd hoped to escape this weekend. His stepfather really didn't care what he did, as long as it didn't interfere with business.  
  
He headed out into the hallway, locked up behind him, and made his way to the elevator. He could hear voices grouped around the elevator, and he sent out a silent wish that it was just a bunch of old biddies yakking. He cursed when arrived and saw that it wasn't.  
  
Adam and Micheal were two jocks at OSHS, the same school Vegeta was cursed to attend. They were the lowest of the low in Vegeta's opinion, and he was sure he didn't rank very high up on any of their lists either; except as a victim. He forced his unconsciously hunched shoulders to straighten themselves as he neared them and their noxious prescence.  
  
"Look, it's Vegeta." Adam sneered, running a hand through his black hair.  
  
"The fag decided to come out of his hole?" Micheal shoved him roughly into the elevator cabin as the door swung open.  
  
"Fuck off." Vegeta growled, shoving his way out of the elevator and heading for the entrance to flight of stairs. He wouldn't be able to avoid the twin dip shits for long, they still had to ride the bus together, but any way he could cut down on his actual contact with the two assholes was looked upon favorably.  
  
He ran down the staircase, he lived on the tenth floor, leaving him a lot of stairs to descend. He was sweating slightly as he came out the side exit of the building and made a dash for the bus stop. His watch told he'd have a minute to spare.  
  
He arrived as the bus was just beginning to pull in. Adam and Micheal were engrossed in copying answers off each other (They were trying desperately to make the C honor roll), and thankfully paid no mind to him.  
  
He slid into the seat just behind the driver. His fellow classmates were piled in the back, thinking that being farther from the bus driver made it harder for him to catch what they were doing. The only blind spot the driver had were the seats directly behind him, and with the all his attention divided between the racket behind him and the traffic in front of him, he paid no mind to what was going on right behind him.  
  
"Can I sit here?"  
  
A pretty girl with Mediterranean blue hair smiled at him. She dressed like a model out of a teen magazine. Her hair was cut with the latest trend, and her make up was perfectly applied.  
  
He felt himself flush at her very prescence. He could detect a hint of a smirk, and he knew that she must be used to boys blushing and drooling all over her. She had to be, with all that cleavage she was exposing. What confused him was why he was blushing.  
  
"Sure." He said coldly, his instinctive reaction to any situation he was unfamiliar or uncomfortable with. This fit into both categories.  
  
"B!" An annoyingly high-pitched voice screamed from the back. He cringed involuntarily, his hands coming up instinctively to cover his ears.  
  
"B! Why didn't you IM me that you were transferring!" A dark brunette girl whom he recognized as Chichi, chattered.  
  
"I wanted it to be a surprise!" 'B' said. Vegeta found himself absently trying to determine what the 'B' was short for. ** Barbara, Barbie,. Bethany, Beebe, Beatrix,. **  
  
"C'mon, you don't want to sit here, Bulma," Chichi couldn't hide the way her lip unpleasantly curled. "You'll catch a disease."  
  
Bulma looked at him with alarm and allowed herself to be led away. Vegeta felt heat rise higher in his cheeks from humiliation. He cursed Radditz mentally, before pulling out his journal. It was tattered and looked about ready to fall to pieces. He'd have to re-duct tape it soon.  
  
He idly flipped through his various ramblings and drawings. The images distracted his attention from the hissed whispers of his fellow students. They were undoubtedly about him. The worst of it was that they were probably true. He probably was a diseased. He was a fag.  
  
Anger surged through him suddenly, his fists clenching, and the fragile binding of his journal split, sending his private thoughts flying. He jumped out of his seat and began to frantically retrieve them from the floor.  
  
He ignored the lewd comments he received as he bent under seats, satisfying his urge to strangle them all with growling as he snatched at the papers.  
  
He froze as he felt something warm press onto his backside.  
  
He heard the jeers change. "He likes it!" "Way to go, Mike!" came, instead of the customary "Fag!" or "Fairy".  
  
And someone in a panting voice said into his ear: "Oh you're such a tight little whore. Take it, bitch, take it!"  
  
Self-protective instincts kicked in and he wrapped his legs around his assailant, much to the crowd's delight. Then, using his forearms and weight as leverage, he flipped him over his head and the assailant onto his back. He was on his feet instantly, and it was mere seconds before he had his hands around Mike's neck.  
  
"If you **ever** fucking touch me again, I'll break your puny dick off and make you eat it." He snarled, his hands involuntarily constricting slightly.  
  
It seemed to make his point, however, because Mike paled and nodded, and there was not a noise from his classmates.  
  
He threw Mike back down and took a breath to calm himself. Gathering up the pieces of paper he'd found, he left for his seat. He didn't care if he didn't have the rest of the papers. There was nothing too important in them worth going back there and tempting fate again.  
  
He didn't see a blue-haired girl pick up a sheaf of paper and slip it inside her binder unnoticed by her friend.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"The story is he tried to jump Radditz, a senior three years ago, at a post- game party. That's when he 'came out of the closet' so to speak. Don't mention him to Goku."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Radditz was his brother, and he and Vegeta were the best of friends before the incident. He gets upset when people talk about."  
  
"That would suck, your best friend trying to get into your older brother's pants." Bulma sent a sideways glance at the boy sitting in front.  
  
"He's trouble, Bulma." Chichi said in a warning tone.  
  
"I don't know." Bulma drawled coyly, fluttering her eyelashes in Vegeta's direction. Chichi's face tightened with exasperation.  
  
"He's unconvertible, he's president of the 'Gay club' here. Of course he's the only member." Chichi huffed.  
  
Bulma made a non-committal sound as the bus pulled to a stop.  
  
She looked to the building, quashing down any trepidation she had about not being accepted. She was Bulma Briefs; her father was owner of Capsule Corporation, one of the largest technology-based companies around. If the money couldn't buy her popularity, then the fact that she was semi- professional model (she'd only had one national ad campaign) would certainly guarantee it.  
  
Sauntering up the steps she made her entrance into the school with Chichi by her side. They'd been best of friends when they were young, before Bulma had to move with her father's business. They'd come in contact again through a chat on AIM a year back.  
  
She gave a dazzling smile to the boys that stared at her, and headed towards her locker.  
  
Yes, she was most definitely not going to be unpopular.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Vegeta scowled at the school counselor that was following him to his locker. Mr. Carey was a skinny ex-hippie, who was thoroughly into outdated pop psychology. He was OSHS' expensive school psychologist.  
  
"So, did you find a boyfriend this summer?"  
  
Vegeta gritted his teeth.  
  
"No."  
  
"That's perfectly alright, many people are late bloomers. You have a good year, alright?" Mr. Carey said cheerfully, patting him on the back before wandering off pretending to be chummy with some other students.  
  
Snarling to himself he yanked on his broken locker door and tossed his extra textbooks into the locker. For an expensive private school like OSHS, he would have thought that they could afford decent lockers. Of course, they probably didn't give the good lockers to those who came on scholarship.  
  
Scowling he checked his new schedule, and groaned. He was in Drama III, when he'd specifically requested metal shop. Mr. Carey must have thought he'd made a mistake, again. It was useless trying to change that prick's mind, so he merely sighed and resigned himself to yet another year of drama as he made his way down to the auditorium.  
  
Miss Simon was not that bad of a teacher. She was very cheerful and bouncy, not to mention naturally blonde. She was young and unmarried, and therefore her class was populated with a good portion of other young **straight** guys. Not that Mr. Carey ever seemed to notice; he thought as a queer, Vegeta would be struck with an undying love of Gilbert and Sullivan. If the son of a bitch asked him to sing 'I am a Modern Major General' one more time, he would not be responsible for his actions.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
The cafeteria at OSHS was always noisy. Bulma found that noisy environments were the ones she survived best in; especially for what she was going to do next. She'd already put herself firmly in place in the popular group. Just flashing her brilliant smile, and introducing herself worked like magic.  
  
She focused her attention to a lonely corner of the lunchroom. There sat her next challenge. Wild ebony hair, dark eyes, pale olive skin, and Spanish soap opera star eyes. He had good dress sense for a guy, of course that might have been because he was gay.  
  
She turned her attention back to Chichi and her boyfriend Goku. Goku was captain of the basketball team, and an adorable jock. She smiled and with deliberate rudeness asked:  
  
"So what's between you and Vegeta, Goku?"  
  
Chichi looked as if she were being strangled. Goku went pale for a second before his face became slightly hard.  
  
"He made out with my brother," He said flatly, before picking at his salad.  
  
"Come on, Bulma, I'll show you where the rest of your classes are." Chichi gritted out.  
  
As soon as they were out in the hall, Chichi turned on her.  
  
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" She hissed like an angry cobra. All she needed was a rattle.  
  
"Getting information, I wanted to see if the rumors were true."  
  
"It was cruel, especially since Radditz died this summer. He found out he was HIV positive and then blew his brains out." Chichi looked grim, and Bulma flushed with embarrassment. "He's more than a little upset at Vegeta right now, that's why I told you to bring it up. It's also why I told you to avoid Vegeta, he's bad news."  
  
"You think he gave Radditz.." Chichi nodded grimly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Chichi." Bulma flushed with shame.  
  
She re-entered the cafeteria, slightly humbled. She'd not thought it'd be that bad.  
  
"I'm sorry, Goku, I shouldn't have pried."  
  
Goku beamed up at her.  
  
"That's okay you didn't know."  
  
To this she gave no comment as guilt curled tighter in her stomach.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Vegeta returned to his apartment after school, and found it blessedly stepfather free. He didn't have to go out until five, which was three hours from now. He headed directly to his room, and grabbed his copy of Les Miserables, and began to read.  
  
He used to go to the Boys and Girls club downtown with Goku and study karate in the afternoons. He'd given up after the incident in his freshman year. He'd spent more time in the library and with literature since.  
  
His eyes drifted to the framed photo on the dresser. He should have thrown it out. It was the photo of him and Goku, after the final soccer game of the season. He was still dressed in his bright orange uniform, and sweaty from coming off the field. Goku had hoisted him up on his shoulder in celebration for the block he'd made against the opposing team, securing their victory. It wasn't until later that night that they'd cease to be friends.  
  
He looked at his watch, and had found that in all his navel-gazing, time had moved forward. It was now four-thirty, and he had to be in the park in another half-hour. With a sigh he climbed off the bed, kicked on his shoes, and slid on his black trench coat. He went out into the table by the doorway, on which sat his mother's blue china vase. He pulled out the garish false silk flowers, and pulled out the packet of white powder. He snarled at it with disgust before tucking it into his inside coat pocket, and heading out.  
  
The park was a moderate distance from his apartment building, and by the time he arrived it was a few minutes after five. He sat down on his usual park bench. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a young woman with large sunglasses on, dressed in an expensive tan coat, and wearing a red headscarf coming towards him. He did not look at her as she came to sit beside him.  
  
"The fifty," she said and he realized her voice was familiar. He looked down could see the edge of the fifty-dollar-bill underneath her leather- gloved hand. He made a vague nod, reached in his pocket and pulled out the pouch, and set it near her coat pocket. She moved to stuff it in her pocket, as he grabbed the bill.  
  
"Thank you." She said before walking off.  
  
Vegeta blinked as he realized whom the buyer was. It was Chichi Mau, Goku Son's girlfriend, his ex-best friend. He should tell him what his girlfriend had gotten into, cocaine only led to a very dead end. Not that Goku would believe him. He hadn't believed him when he'd claimed that he hadn't kissed Radditz, that he hadn't given Radditz AIDS, why should he believe his perfect, popular, girlfriend would ever do smack? 


	2. Ghosts

Chapter Three: Ghosts  
  
"Today's lunch is: Chicken Cordon Bleu or Pizza. Please remember that all seniors must report to their counselor for college planning. The scholarships of the week are from: The Elks Club, Tesoro Stations, and Nike. Have a nice day and a great weekend."  
  
Bulma smiled flirtatiously across the room at Yamucha in the tenor section. He blushed and gave her a small wave before focusing on the teacher in the front of the room. Mrs. Henderson was very strict, she'd heard, but one of the best teachers in the district.  
  
"Alright, let's begin warm ups." The short, graying woman said, sitting down at the piano in the center of the room.  
  
She half-heartedly sang along with the rest of the class. She was not the best of singers, she knew that, but she needed a creative arts credit.  
  
Pulling out her notebook, her eye caught on a crumpled piece of paper that slid out. Picking it up, she realized it was the diary entry she'd picked up off the floor of the bus. With interest she began to read it:  
  
'May 15th, 1999  
  
I hate the world. I hate Radditz more. I wish a demon would eat that mother fucker's balls.'  
  
A small sketch of what appeared to be a demon munching on what suspiciously looked like a pair of testes sat at the bottom of the page, glaring at the viewer malevolently. Chichi was right, he was too bizarre for her tastes.  
  
Although the demon sketch was good.  
  
Worthless thoughts, she reminded herself, as she wadded the piece of paper up into a ball and tossed it into the garbage can. Worthless thoughts on a worthless person doomed to die anyway.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
She wiggled in her seat, trying not to be too obvious about it. It felt like she was in the boiler room, instead of Senior English class. She pulled with agitation at the collar of her shirt. She could feel the sweat trickling down her spine, and she rubbed against the back of the chair fruitlessly in an effort to make the itch go away.  
  
There was only one cure, she knew, and it frightened her how addicted she'd become to the powder. Her body burned for it, and she longed to satisfy its ache. She'd only take a little snort. She'd just take a little hit to get her through the rest of the day, and to stop the itching and unbearable heat. Nothing wrong with taking a little hit, and it didn't mean she was addicted to the stuff or anything.  
  
She reached into her purse and pulled out her chapstick tube. She opened the bottom of it, where the life-saving powder lay hidden in its recesses. Carefully watching around her, she quickly put the end near her nose and took a quick sniff, before capping the tube and replacing it in her purse.  
  
An airy feeling soon took over her as she tried to focus on what Mr. Stephenson was writing on the board. Damned sparks kept getting in her way. She shook her head to relieve herself of the dizziness before determinedly copying off the notes.  
  
She felt so much better now.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"Hey, Yamucha!" Somebody called for him. Yamucha turned, and grinned at his friend, Krillen.  
  
"Hey!" He replied, waiting for the shorter teen to catch up.  
  
"I hear you've got a girlfriend." Krillen said with a lecherous grin. "A certain Miss Briefs?"  
  
Yamucha blushed.  
  
"I'm just showing her around town tomorrow."  
  
"Sure you are. You're 'just' showing a big-time model around."  
  
"What!?!"  
  
"You didn't know?" Krillen raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, it was in the newspaper article they published about her family moving here again. She was the hot chick on all those zit crème ads."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really. Honestly, you need to pay more attention."  
  
"I guess I'd better get her something nice then, when we go out on our date."  
  
"Hah! I knew it was a date!"  
  
"What should I get her, Krillen? Flowers, candies, jewelry?!?!?!?" Yamucha asked in a panicked voice.  
  
"Man, you could **not** have chosen a harder girl to go out with for your first ever date."  
  
"I've had other girls before!"  
  
"Taking your visiting cousin out to the movies does not count."  
  
"She kissed me!"  
  
"Dude, that's just disgusting." Krillen shuddered.  
  
"I know, she had dog breath and one of her zits popped in the process."  
  
"You know, Yamucha, I'd really like to eat today, without thinking of your zit-faced cousin." Krillen made gagging motions.  
  
"So do I, I can't ever look the cafeteria's pimento loaf sandwiches without thinking of her."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"Alright, for our first day of class, I'd like to do some improvisation." Miss Simon said cheerily, despite the fact that it was eight o' clock in the morning, an ungodly hour to most of the class.  
  
Miss Simon stared at her clipboard for a second, before beaming brightly at Vegeta; he slouched down farther in his seat in resigned to his fate of being first picked.  
  
"Vegeta, I've not seen you with Goku in a long while, you two go along splendidly. Up on the stage boys."  
  
Vegeta could feel his face grow paler, and one quick look at Goku confirmed his suspicions that he wasn't too happy either. They both ascended the stage, taking opposite sides to avoid contact with the other.  
  
"Now, to make it easy, I want the two of you to get into an argument, one of you has been betrayed by the other, and the betrayed confronts the betrayer."  
  
Vegeta felt his gut sink at the evil look that appeared on Goku's face. Miss Simon merely beamed happily at them, as she sat and waited for them to begin. The rest of the class he noticed was sitting in tense silence, eyes riveted to the drama that was undoubtedly about to play out on stage. Damn the oblivious Miss Simon for asking this of him!  
  
"How could you it?" Goku snarled at him as they both were relatively close to each other.  
  
"How could I what?" Vegeta asked nervously. His response only seemed to infuriate Goku.  
  
"Don't lie to me! We were friends, once." Goku grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him up to his eye level. "You killed him, you son of a bitch. He's dead because of what you did!" By now, Goku was shaking him roughly, fury burning deep in his brown eyes.  
  
"Let-go of me!" Vegeta snarled, trying to pry himself free of Goku's grip, which had now become tight irons around his forearms.  
  
"Not until you apologize! Why did you do it!?! You had to have known!"  
  
"I--I--"  
  
The conversation deteriorated from there. Goku swung a punch that connected with his right eye, and he fell back onto the floor. He curled in on himself instinctively, protecting the kick headed for his skull with his forearm. His skull may have been protected, but his abdomen soon got the brunt of the blows.  
  
"You killed Radditz, and you used me to do it!" Goku shrieked, before someone had enough prescence of mind to pull the two of them apart.  
  
Vegeta uncurled, and sat up, cradling his sore arm. Goku had left, presumably to the Principal's office, as Miss Simon clapped.  
  
"Very convincing! Excellent boys!"  
  
He couldn't take today. Crawling off the stage, he stumbled towards his backpack, snatched it, and headed out the door. He could hear Miss Simon calling after him, but he ignored her as he limped out towards the bus stop.  
  
He caught the bus that headed towards East High School. Juunana would skip school with him. he didn't exactly want to be alone right now. He had always suspected Goku had blamed him for Radditz's death, but the other boy had never vocalized his thoughts before.  
  
He touched his sore eye gingerly, and pulled back when it stung him. Guilt snarled in his stomach, and he tried to rationally explain that his guilt was irrational. There was no way that he could have possibly given Radditz HIV through one forced kiss. That didn't shut up the voices however.  
  
HIV mutates, you know that, perhaps you've got one that can be passed through a simple kiss.  
  
**It's not possible, and I didn't kiss him, he kissed me.**  
  
Honestly, you sound like a twelve year old 'I didn't kiss him, he kissed me.', if you hadn't gone to that party, nothing ever would have happened.  
  
**How could I have known that **THAT** was going to happen?**  
  
The bus pulled to a stop before he could continue his pointless ponderings, although they still left him with a queasy stomach. He could see the school up in the distance, and jogged towards it, despite the sudden pounding in his head.  
  
He searched the parking lot for Juunana's and Juuhachi's ancient Oldsmobile classic. It was a boat of a car, and a matte navy, and therefore not hard to miss. Juunana or Juuhachi would come out to get their lunch from a fast food joint, and he could talk to them then.  
  
He sat on the hood of the car for a moment, before jumping down and pulling out his wallet. Fishing through the various identity cards he finally pulled out the razor stuck between his public library card and an old business card from a pizza parlor that had long gone out of closed.  
  
He leaned back against the car, and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, baring his forearm. He glared at it with hatred, before laying the sharpened edge down, and dragging through his skin. It immediately felt as if it was on fire, and his throat became choked with bile. Blood slid down his arm as he made another intersecting mark. Self-hatred made his muscles clench, and the blood came down in thicker spurts.  
  
Wiping the blood of the razor he returned it to his wallet, gently moving his now wounded arm. He winced as he was forced to roll down his sleeve over the injury that was only slightly bleeding now.  
  
He sat back up on the hood of the car, and glared at the entrance to East, willing the lunch bell to ring.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
It took a few minutes before Miss Simons realized what had really happened up there on stage, and Goku was sent to the office to wait.  
  
Their Principal, Mrs. Bitters, took one look at the note he gave her from Miss Simons and said: "Call your father, one day suspension." Before retreating back into her office. Mrs. Bitters didn't much care for school, or teaching according to his Uncle who had her when he was in High School. Rumor had it that she got the title of Principal by accident.  
  
Dialing up his father's work phone he prepared himself for an assault on his ears.  
  
"Dad?" He said nervously into the phone.  
  
"Yes, Goku?" His father's voice was suddenly concerned.  
  
"I've been suspended a day for fighting." He said quickly, deciding to get it over with quickly instead of having it dragged out.  
  
"What?" His father snapped. "Goku --" His father sighed with disappointment. That was always the worst, the disappointment. "We'll talk about this tonight. I'll call Toma and he'll pick you up." His father hung up the phone, and he hung it despondently afterwards.  
  
**I'll bet he wishes I'd taken after Radditz. Radditz never actually got caught fighting.***  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"Vegeta! What the hell are you doing here?" Juuhachi asked, jogging up to her friend.  
  
"Crap day at school, decided to come here." Vegeta shrugged, not quite able to meet Juuhachi's eyes.  
  
"Get in the car and tell me what happened." She motioned towards the passenger side as she opened and unlocked the doors, sliding behind the wheel.  
  
They headed towards the Crazy Taco, and were just beginning to pull out of the drive thru when Vegeta began to talk.  
  
"We were in drama, and I got paired with Goku, and we were supposed to have an argument." Here he fingered the bruised on his eye. "He came out and told me he thought I was responsible for giving Radditz AIDS." Vegeta shuddered.  
  
"The guy is an asshole Vegeta, I don't know why you obsess on --"  
  
"I don't want to hear it Juuhachi."  
  
Juuhachi sighed loudly, and bit into a taco.  
  
"Do you want any tacos?" She asked after washing the taco down with diet pop.  
  
"I'm not hungry." Vegeta sighed. "If I just transferred over to East--"  
  
"You know going to Orange Star is your only way out of this hell hole. East has a notorious reputation, so unless you want to get a job in fine arts -- "  
  
"My guidance counselor, Mr. Carey, thinks so."  
  
"Thinks what?"  
  
"That I should be a singer." Vegeta gave a half smirk in Juuhachi's direction. Juuhachi snorted.  
  
"No offense, but you can't sing worth jack crap."  
  
"I know. Mr. Carey's a jerk off. He keeps putting me in drama ---" He sighed, remembering what brought him into Juuhachi's car in the first place.  
  
"Do you want me to drop you off at Orange Star?"  
  
"Yeah, I've got Government and Art, they're Goku-free."  
  
"Tell Juunana I'm sorry that his tacos are cold."  
  
"He'll expect restitution."  
  
"Alright." Vegeta smirked.  
  
They pulled into Orange Star and Vegeta jumped out.  
  
"Thanks Juuhachi."  
  
"Yeah, just don't tell anyone, otherwise they'll all be turning to me for advice."  
  
"We wouldn't want that, now would we?"  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"Let's go out and get some lunch." Uncle Toma said, entering Orange Star's office area. Goku nodded, grabbed his satchel and joined his Uncle in the walk to the car.  
  
"So you beat the crap out of Vegeta."  
  
"Not exactly. Miss Simon told us to have an argument, and I guess I got carried away..."  
  
"I see."  
  
"He didn't fight back." Goku sighed. "He could have, I know he could've, we took karate together."  
  
His Uncle made a sound of agreement as he started the engine of his beat up Volkswagen Beetle.  
  
"Sometimes I think that Vegeta couldn't have done it, but the way he's out of the closet now. I just don't know."  
  
A long moment of silence passed.  
  
"Sometimes I think Dad liked Radditz better than me. I can tell when I screw up on something. I can almost hear him wanting to say 'Why can't you be more like Radditz?'"  
  
"Not to offend your masculine pride or anything," His Uncle spoke for the first time, as they turned into a pizza parlor. "But you were always a Momma's boy." Goku blushed. "Not that you're a wuss or anything, it's just that you and your mom got on better than you and your dad. Radditz was more like your father, but your Dad's proud of you. He's always boasting about how many points you scored in the last game, or your grades." He grinned at him. "Now let's forget all about this, and eat some pizza."  
  
End Chapter Three 


	3. Rules of Engagement

Chapter Two: Rules of Engagement  
  
  
  
Bulma sighed as she entered her house; her parents weren't home, again. She realized it was tough for her father to be the head genius and president of Capsule Corporation. It was equally hard for her mother, she supposed, being the operator of a large catering company. She still wished they were home sometimes.  
  
She hung up her coat and pressed the play button on the answering machine. There were five messages. She forwarded through three of them; two of those were for her father from lawyers' etcetera, and one was for her mother, requesting her to do something.  
  
"Hello, Miss Briefs. This is Tanya over to A&D Advertising. This is about the portfolio you submitted to us for the Verbatim Jeans campaign. You're shoot is at nine-thirty this Saturday morning. Please avoid drinking, and eat a light breakfast. If you have any questions please contact our offices between eight and five on the weekday at 556-364."  
  
She fast-forwarded through the rest of the message. She wouldn't have any questions.  
  
"Hi, Bulma. This is Yamucha Marko, I'm in your English class." He sounded nervous. Bulma found a predatory grin creeping onto her face. "I was wondering, if you weren't to busy of course, if I could show you around town sometime? My home number is 553-8675" The last was said hopeful.  
  
She remembered Yamucha vaguely from her class. He had wild mullet cut, but it looked kind of cute on him. He had a handsome face with a strong jaw, and he was free of acne or nasty cologne.  
  
She picked up the phone, and dialed his number.  
  
"Hello, Marko house, Yolanda speaking." A little girl answered.  
  
"Hi, is your brother Yamucha there?"  
  
"Yeah," The girl sighed. "I'll get him. HEY! YAM-HEAD! YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS ON THE PHONE!!!!!!" the girl shrieked.  
  
"That's not funny Yolanda, get out of here!" she could hear Yamucha snap, as he wrestled the phone away from his sister.  
  
"It's Bulma." She said.  
  
"Oh, hi, Bulma." She could practically hear a blush in his voice. He was definitely cute.  
  
"How about you pick me up after work Saturday? I should be out around noon."  
  
"Sure! That's great, gimme the address."  
  
She told him.  
  
"Great, that's really close to the baseball field where I practice. I'll be there, see you Saturday --- and in class I suppose."  
  
"Alright, Yam-chan." She said, before hanging up.  
  
So maybe Vegeta was 'unavailable', she might have gone after him if it wasn't for the fact he had AIDS. Yamucha was a nice guy, popular, and less work than trying to reform Vegeta. He was guaranteed fun.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Goku entered his father's townhouse. His dad was head foreman at Capsule Corporation's manufacturing division, and was undoubtedly working late with the arrival of Dr. Briefs to get the plant into shop.  
  
The house was lonely without his mom or Radditz hanging around. His mother had passed shortly after Radditz had died. Their deaths still made him feel sick to the stomach.  
  
"Hey, Carrot-head!" His Uncle Toma had come to live with them after his mother died. He was a dedicated bachelor, and a hell of a lot of fun.  
  
"Hey, Uncle Toma." He couldn't stop a small smile that touched his face.  
  
"Why were you so long faced?" His Uncle asked as he started to drink straight out of the orange juice carton.  
  
"Dad is going to be pissed if he sees you drinking out of the carton again." He said, before sighing. "I was thinking about Radditz. I saw Vegeta again."  
  
His Uncle's shoulders slumped. Toma had been the one Radditz was staying with while he was at college to cut down on the costs. He felt responsible for not intervening sooner.  
  
"It's not your fault."  
  
"I know, and don't go thinking it was yours either." Toma said, giving him a sharp look in the eye. "You couldn't have known how **he** was."  
  
"I know." Goku sighed.  
  
"You've got karate in fifteen minutes, you'd better get going. Your dad's working late again, so how about we go out to eat tonight?"  
  
"That'll be great." Goku said as he grabbed his dojo bag sitting by the door. "See you later!"  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Returning to his apartment building he headed up the thirteenth floor, and stopped at apartment number 35M. He knocked, and heard the deadbolt slide back, and several keys turn.  
  
"Hey, Vegeta." Juunana said as he opened the door. "You're still going to that stupid prep-school, I see."  
  
"Don't tell me that you missed me?"  
  
"Of course, Vegeta." Juuhachi smirked. "Don't you know that he's madly in love with you? I can hear him calling your name when he's getting off in bed every night."  
  
Juunana scowled at his fairer twin sister.  
  
"Bitch."  
  
"Woof, woof." She said in a monotone, raising an eyebrow at her brother. She turned back to Vegeta. "So how are you Goth-boy?"  
  
Vegeta rolled his eyes at his nickname.  
  
"School's full of dicks, as usual."  
  
"You really should transfer out of there, come back to East." Juunana sighed.  
  
"Nah, I told you, I'll go to college, and then I'll manage your fashion company." Vegeta shrugged. "You guys do all the designing and I'll sell it."  
  
"Speaking of which." Juuhachi went into her and Juunana's bedroom. She came back out with something in black and tossed it at him.  
  
"Put it on, I've got to take more photos for my portfolio."  
  
Vegeta headed into the bathroom, and shut the door behind him.  
  
He put the shirt on first. It was tight and had thick silver pirate stripes sewn on. The pair of spandex pants were even tighter and had silver around the cuffs.  
  
"Be sure to take off your underwear, I don't want panty-lines!" Juuhachi called.  
  
Grumbling slightly he headed out the door.  
  
"Lovely, dahling." Juunana drawled. Vegeta flipped him off.  
  
"Perfect." Juuhachi smirked. "Let's go out on the deck and shoot it."  
  
"Only if you promise to cut my hair after you're finished playing dress-up with me."  
  
"Fine, now get your ass out there."  
  
They went out the deck, which was only seven feet by four, with just enough space for the tree teens and a chair.  
  
"You only like me for my body, don't you?"  
  
"Yes, now lean back against the railing, use your elbows to support you." Juunana directed. He was Juuhachi's photographer as well as assistant designer. "Head to the side, looking out to the next. Look artfully bored. Now cross your right leg over your left." Vegeta held the pose while Juunana inspected him. "Perfect, now hold it."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
She was flying, high in the air. She was invincible; she could take on the strongest man in the universe, and she could take him out with one punch.  
  
She was coked up. She hadn't meant to get into this nasty habit. no, no, not at all. Oh, God, she had to give a speech to the Middle School about saying 'No' to drugs. How hypocritical, especially considering she'd be so nervous that she'd have to take a hit before she got on stage. She was so afraid of large crowds. She was always uneasy in front of people. Smack was the only thing that shut up those awful doubting voices that resided in her head from taking over and ruling her life.  
  
She wanted to go back to the country. She wanted to live with her father again. If that stupid fire hadn't destroyed their house, Father never would have gotten it into his head to send her to live with her Aunt Meimei and Cousin Keiko so she could attend her last year and a half of schooling at Orange Star. It was so much larger than the school she'd had back home, with maybe two hundred students, Orange Star boasted over one thousand five hundred.  
  
She was so afraid coming into this big city. Afraid of the muggers in every alley that took more from young girls than their money, that she'd always heard about. She was afraid of being a total country bumpkin, afraid of being humiliated, or being behind in classes.  
  
Cousin Keiko was so pretty, and so very popular at Orange Star. She was Captain of the Cheerleading squad and voted Prom Queen. Keiko was so wise. she had pulled her over just before the Valentine's dance (to which she was going stag), and handed her a little bottle and told her to sniff. She had and suddenly all her fears had floated away. She'd met Goku Son that night, and she knew she'd never would have had the guts to ask him dance had she been clean.  
  
Now, however, Cousin Keiko had gone off to college. She'd taken all her miracle cure with her. The small stash that Keiko had left her with had been exhausted the day before school.  
  
She'd contacted some of Keiko's friends who were into the more illicit sort of dealings. They'd given her the number of Keiko's dealer. She'd been quite surprised when **Vegeta** had showed up. He certainly didn't sound like the man she'd talked to on the phone.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He opened the door of the apartment and felt his stomach lurch. His stepfather was sitting on the couch. He'd hope that he'd have stayed somewhere else tonight. No such luck apparently.  
  
"Did you do your chores?" His stepfather asked boredly, beckoning him forward with an idle wave of a hand that he did not disobey. His stepfather's eyes never flicked from the television set, whose glow was mirrored on his bald head.  
  
"Yes."  
  
A hand fell out, silently asking for the money. He dug through his pockets, and found with alarm that the bill was not there. He had to have dropped it at Juuhachi and Juunana's while he was changing into one of their outfits. Panic began to bubble up in him as his stepfather turned his head to glare at him. His black eyes took on a red glow as they pierced him. A cold sweat broke out along his spine.  
  
"I dropped it." He whispered.  
  
Fury swept across his stepfather's face as he leapt to his feet. His stomach twisted into icy knots as the too-late realization came that his stepfather must have been sampling the latest shipment.  
  
He heard the crack of skin on skin before he felt it. He stumbled backwards with the force of the slap, a hand coming up to guard the injured cheek. The injury throbbed and burned noticeably against his palm.  
  
"I know where it is." He said quickly, and made a dash out of the apartment.  
  
He raced up the stairs, knowing if he took too long in retrieving the money that his stepfather would be just as unhappy as if he'd never gotten it at all. He arrived breathlessly to the twins' door, and beat against the wood.  
  
Juuhachi's head popped out and she handed him the money.  
  
"If you need to, we've got a sofa-sleeper." She offered.  
  
"No," He said with a firm shake of the head. "That's okay, I need to get back, and he'll be wanting this."  
  
"Frieza's a dick, Vegeta. I don't know why you stay with him." She sighed. "He just beats on you or gets you to do his dirty work."  
  
To this he had no response, and so merely shrugged, and headed quickly back downstairs.  
  
By the time he arrived back in the apartment, his stepfather had resettled himself on the couch.  
  
"I got it," He said, thrusting the money out, and flinching back in preparation. His stepfather grunted, took it, and began to roll it. On the table Vegeta could see the cut cocaine.  
  
Seeing that he was not going to receive any additional blows, Vegeta headed towards the kitchen. Perusing the near-empty shelves and refrigerator/freezer, he came up with a half package of dried spaghetti noodles, some tomato paste, and about a glass of milk. His stomach growled in anticipation. He'd not gotten anything to eat today. He set about to preparing his meal.  
  
At eight-thirty, a half-hour after sunset, his stepfather left the house without a remark in his direction. Vegeta breathed a sigh of relief at that. He turned off the TV (which was blaring, ironically, COPS), locked up after Frieza, and went into his bedroom.  
  
Settling down with his abandoned novel, he proceeded to remove himself from reality.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"Yam-head has a girlfriend!" Yolanda crowed as the Marko family sat down for their dinner of lasagna bought from the grocery store. His mother generally cooked, but tonight she was too busy.  
  
"I do not!" Yamucha said crossly, tossing a dinner roll at his nine-year- old sister.  
  
"Yamucha don't throw food at your sister, you know it only encourages her," The Marko Matriarch, Yvonne, snapped as she plopped a large piece of cheesy lasagna on his plate.  
  
Ms. Marko's point was only proved when Yamucha's dinner roll came hurtling back, and got him square between the eyes.  
  
"So, who is she?" Yamucha's mother asked.  
  
"Her name's Bulma." Yamucha blushed at the mere mention of her name.  
  
"She stupid, because she doesn't know that boys have cooties!" Yolanda jeered.  
  
"Shut it, pipsqueak." Yamucha snarled. For all his fearsomeness, he got a tongue in return.  
  
"Yolanda, eat your dinner." Yvonne snapped.  
  
"Did you hear anything from Dad?" Yamucha said hopefully after a moment of silence.  
  
There was more silence as Yolanda stopped picking at her food and joined Yamucha in looking at their mother.  
  
"He said he'd try to make it to your graduation," Yvonne sighed.  
  
"Oh." Yamucha said with obvious disappointment, and stared at his half- eaten dinner. He felt his mother's hand slip around his.  
  
"Your father's a very busy man." She tried to placate.  
  
"Too busy to show up for one of my games, or send a birthday card, or visit, even though he lives in the same **fucking** city?" Yamucha said bitterly.  
  
"Don't say **that** word in front of your sister." Yvonne hissed.  
  
"Sorry." Yamucha grumbled, and shoved a large piece of lasagna in his mouth.  
  
The three ate in silence through the rest of dinner. 


	4. Hurricane

Author's Notes: To all FIVE of you who reviewed, I applaud you. **claps** Anyway, I don't own DBZ, see full disclaimer in the beginning.  
  
Now, some of you guys and gals may think that Vegeta is a little bit of a, well 'pussy'. Just remember that this fic is progressing and the great thing about being human is that you can change at any moment; you may not WANT to, but you can.  
  
Chapter Four: Hurricane  
  
"You owe me."  
  
"I know."  
  
"My tacos were soggy because of you."  
  
"Maybe you shouldn't eat soft tacos then."  
  
"That's beside the point, you still owe me."  
  
"Your wish is my command, sire."  
  
"Cute. I want you to get laid tonight."  
  
"What!?!"  
  
"The only way you'll make me happy is if you get laid." Juunana sighed. "A good shag will get you out of this funk." He said in his best Austin Powers imitation.  
  
"God, that's a man's solution to everything." Vegeta sighed.  
  
"Hey! I believe you have a certain bit between your legs that marks you as part of the male species also. NOT that you use it or anything. until tonight that is." He grinned perversely.  
  
Vegeta shoved Juunana.  
  
"**FINE**." Vegeta sighed. "I'll **TRY** and get laid tonight."  
  
"That's all I can ask, although I doubt you'll have any problem."  
  
"I thought you were straight."  
  
"I'm what they call 'gay curious'."  
  
"So rent some porn and find out."  
  
"Don't forget your protection." Juuhachi muttered, tossing a condom at an unprepared Vegeta.  
  
Juunana laughed at Vegeta's shocked face. Vegeta scowled fiercely at him, before shoving the condom in the back pocket of his heavy black silk pants (courtesy of Juuhachi).  
  
"Are you ready to go?" He snapped.  
  
"Yeah, let's go."  
  
They headed out to the car, Vegeta diving to the sanctuary of the back seat, as they headed off for Club Millennium.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
From her extensive IM's with Chichi, Bulma had heard, frequently, of Club Millennium. Which was why she was getting dressed up in her clubbing outfit. It consisted of a tight black patent pleather mini-skirt, a tight hot-pink top that only came down to her second-to-last rib, and a pair of white platform sneakers. She called it her 'White Trash' look.  
  
Smiling at her reflection, she gently daubed on some baby blue eye shadow that went well with her natural hair color. She applied her mascara heavily, and she smiled as she realized she did look like something out of a trailer park. although a lot more chic.  
  
Her smile broadened as she heard the doorbell ring. Chichi was driving her there, as Bulma was still grounded from driving from back home. The punishment didn't end until tomorrow, but her dad had not listened to her pleas to let her take the car out early. He was too afraid that she'd go and do what she did to get it taken away from her in the first place. He was probably right; she was addicted to speed.  
  
She headed quickly down the staircase and after a quick shouted goodbye she headed out the door and straight into Chichi's small car, where the pop radio station was blasting.  
  
Chichi looked nice, her hair was done in a messy bun as opposed to her equally messy ponytail, and she wore red denim hot pants and a plain black t-shirt. Her make up was the same red/black combination that highlighted her very Asian features. She smiled, her teeth battling her eyes for the title of 'brightest'.  
  
"Let's go!"  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Goku leaned against the railings, searching the throbbing crowd in the constantly flickering lights for Chichi and Bulma. He'd told them he'd meet them here. and he probably, he decided, should have mentioned where.  
  
Remixed pop music blared out of the speakers set around the large room that had formerly been a warehouse. Its industrial styling had made it a popular teen hang out. Everything was decorated in either black or shades of metal, which reflected the mostly average lighting rather well.  
  
He beamed as he spotted them entering the club, and quickly checked his red Hawaiian shirt (with the Hula dancer that looked a lot like Chichi, he thought) for any spots or stains, before waving wildly at the pair, hoping to gain their attention from across the room.  
  
It worked, because they slowly made their way through the crowd. They ascended the staircase that led to booth platform he'd reserved.  
  
"I already ordered your drinks." He said as they sat down. Chichi immediately grabbed for the diet soda set in front of her, and he noticed a sheen on her skin. It must have been hotter on the floor than he'd guessed. Although she looked rather pale.  
  
"Thanks, Goku." The two girls said. Bulma was immediately up again, gazing over the railing at the crowd. Chichi stood to join her, but Goku pulled the woozy looking girl back down.  
  
"Hey, you don't look so hot, Chichi." He said into her ear. She would be very upset if the night were ruined for Bulma because she was sick, he knew.  
  
"I just need a minute to catch my breath." Chichi murmured, pulling out a tube of chapstick to gloss up her lips. Afterwards she seemed better, as she took another deep sip of her drink, before pulling him from the booth and onto the dance floor.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
She could not get her mind of that boy, Bulma fumed. Everywhere she went he seemed to follow. She had thought Vegeta would have gone to gay bar, but before her eyes he saw him dancing with a tall blonde girl. He was practically **grinding** against a tall, beautiful, blonde girl. Perhaps he wasn't ---  
  
The song changed, and the two broke off, and before her suspicions were confirmed, Vegeta headed towards another person: A man with bright artificial orange hair.  
  
She turned her head away, resisting the urge to pout. She should just get over this. It was silly.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"My name's Vegeta!"  
  
"Jeff!" The man with the green hair replied as his hands came to rest on his hips. Vegeta felt warm heat pulse through his body, and was glad that Jeff was behind him so he couldn't see the blush that was surely on his face.  
  
This was --- this was pleasant, Vegeta decided.  
  
To his left he could see Juunana give him a thumb up, before devoting his attention to a pretty brunette with big tits.  
  
After the song finished, he turned towards Jeff again. He was deeply tanned, which made his orange hair seem the same intensity as a construction cone. He was well built, which his light blue wife beater and tight jeans showed to the full extent.  
  
"You want to go grab a table up top and get something to drink?" Jeff offered, and Vegeta, breathless and parched himself, nodded in agreement. As Jeff wandered towards the bar, Juunana immediately came forward.  
  
"I knew it'd be easy."  
  
"Shut up, I'm going up to get a booth."  
  
"Get lucky!"  
  
Vegeta flipped Juunana off, before heading up the staircase. Fortune had it that there was a small bench free, and Vegeta immediately moved over and claimed it. Jeff soon was trotting up the stairs with two elaborate frozen drinks in his hands. Jeff grinned, flashing white teeth, as he came to sit beside him.  
  
He took one sip of the purple drink before him and felt the alcohol tang burn in his tongue. He pushed it away discreetly as he and Jeff began to chat. Jeff was a construction worker (which explained the nice body), and attending night school in hopes of getting a degree in mechanics. Vegeta skirted the subject of his own profession, explaining he was currently between jobs. Jeff bought it as he grabbed for Vegeta's drink.  
  
The conversation went down hill from there, as Jeff had most likely had a few drinks before Vegeta had met him, and after polishing off the two tropical drinks, was almost completely wasted.  
  
Jeff was, okay. He was attractive physically, and mentally, but Vegeta thought if it came down to actual dating they wouldn't last any longer than a fly in a hurricane. They were too different personality-wise. Still, personality didn't much matter when it was only going to be a one-night stand. With that thought he could feel the prescence of the condom in his pocket. He resisted the blood rising to his face.  
  
He couldn't fight it, however, when Jeff leaned over to kiss him with alcohol-laced lips. His stomach twisted and his mind was blank except for the strong feeling of wrongness. He denied it, writing it off as first kiss jitters. which wasn't exactly true, but he told that part of his brain to shut up.  
  
Jeff's hands moved to his hips, and Vegeta soon found himself pulled onto Jeff's lap. The 'wrongness' of the situation strengthened, but Vegeta fought it. He was just being silly, letting fear get in the way of what promised to be a very --- Hands tightened around his waist painfully, and he tried to pull back from the ironclad embrace, and panic rose within him when he found he couldn't.  
  
"Let go," He mumbled, freeing his lips from Jeff's.  
  
"No." Jeff pouted, his lips coming over his again firmly, his tongue forcing its' way inside of his mouth. Vegeta felt bile rise and the urge to gag.  
  
"I don't think I can ---" He tried to push back again, but with his arms trapped at his sides it didn't amount to much.  
  
"Virgin?" Jeff grunted, his handsome face suddenly unappealing to Vegeta, who wished dearly just to get away.  
  
"Dun worry, it won' hurt a bit." Jeff mumbled, forcing the kiss again, and Vegeta his spine freeze.  
  
"Don't!" He said louder now, hoping to attract attention.  
  
"C'mon." Jeff whined.  
  
"This is a mistake."  
  
"Fuckin' tease." Jeff snarled, shoving Vegeta off his lap and hard into the table. Vegeta bit back a yelp, and slid to the floor. Jeff stomped off in a drunken self-righteous rage, which pleased Vegeta to no end.  
  
He collected himself mentally as best he could, checked and found no injuries, before he got up off the floor. As he stood his eyes met the ones he least wanted to see, and he cringed at the hateful look they shot at him. The dark orbs that had once looked upon him and called him friend, now screamed accusations of murder.  
  
He practically fled the balcony.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Juunana knew that given five more minutes he would be in 'Kimberly's pants. It was unfortunate that his sister had just broken him away roughly from the hot brunette.  
  
"What?!" He asked with irritation.  
  
"We're leaving." Juuhachi said, dragging him towards the exit.  
  
"But ---" he gestured back to Kimberly, who was now clinging to a broad Hispanic guy.  
  
"Vegeta ran into a bit of trouble thanks to your 'repayment' agreement." Juuhachi sighed.  
  
Juunana's gut tightened at that, and he felt stupid for ever forcing Vegeta to do it. Of course, it always seemed Vegeta was having one emotional crisis or another. Juunana quickly dismissed the thought as unkind. It wasn't as if it were Vegeta's fault he was screwed up.  
  
His friend was sitting in the back of the car, knees pulled up to his chin, and his mascara running. Dark eyes were narrowed and staring at a point in the floor with loathing. Juunana slid into the passenger side seat, as Juuhachi started the car.  
  
"I'm sorry." He mumbled, feeling it was hardly adequate.  
  
"It's not your fault. It's mine. I'm sorry that you had to leave. You should have just let me---" Vegeta said in a blank sort of voice.  
  
"No." Juuhachi said flatly. "Vegeta, we're not going to abandon you like that asshole ---"  
  
"Don't call him that!" Vegeta said with malice in his voice, a rare sound.  
  
"No, you need to fuckin' hear this, Vegeta!" Juuhachi snapped, loosing her temper. "Any asshole that calls you a whore is not your friend. Any jackass that jumps to conclusions and won't give you a chance to explain yourself is not your friend. Therefore: Goku is not a friend, and the prick doesn't deserve to have you torturing yourself over something that wasn't your fault!" Juuhachi was screaming now, and Vegeta looked mightily cowed. "You let people walk all over you Vegeta, you're never going to be until you stop them!"  
  
Vegeta gave no response, but for a moment there was a spark in his eyes that reminded Juunana of the boy he knew before Vegeta went off to Orange Star. Back when Vegeta had been the passionate, sarcastic, and more than a little arrogant and ambitious.  
  
They pulled into the parking lot, and bid the mute Vegeta their goodnights. Juunana thought that Vegeta was thinking over what Juuhachi had said, which was a good sign.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
What did Juuhachi know, Vegeta fumed, as he made his way up the stairs. It wasn't as if she'd ever been in his situation before. She had no right to judge him, to tell him what to do.  
  
He fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. His stepfather was up, and watching TV again. Vegeta shut the door and locked it quietly behind him, scrubbing at his irritated face where tears had left salty trails.  
  
"You were at Club Millennium tonight, I saw you." Frieza turned to him, his red-rimmed eyes glaring at him. "You didn't tell me. I came here looking for you, and you **weren't** here. You're supposed to come here immediately after school." Frieza was furious. and coming down off a high.  
  
"I'm sorry." He whispered, ducking his head.  
  
"You should be, you cunt." Frieza growled, jumping over the back of the couch. Vegeta looked at him with surprise. His stepfather had always been harsh with him, but he'd never called him **that** before.  
  
"You didn't think I wouldn't SEE what you were doing?" Frieza grabbed his upper arm with bruising force. "Crawling all over that other fag?" He shook Vegeta a bit, and Vegeta felt the inch difference between him and his stepfather grow to feet.  
  
"**I** was working to put food on our table! Making the money that sends you to that expensive school! What are you doing? Fucking some nameless guy in a bar!" A hand came around Vegeta's neck in a vise-like grip. He gagged as his air was suddenly cut off.  
  
"I should just whore you out, since you seem to like it so much, just like your fuckin' bitch of a mother."  
  
His stepfather then threw him against the door to his room, and then flew at him with fists and feet. Knowing it was futile to fight, Vegeta curled in on himself allowing himself to be pummeled.  
  
After his stepfather realized that he wasn't fighting back, he soon lost interest, and returned to watching the porno film blaring on the TV.  
  
After he had convinced himself that his stepfather would leave him alone, Vegeta reached with an aching arm, and pulled the handle on the door. Leaning against the wood, he forced it open, falling into the room. He crawled forward, and feebly kicked the door shut behind him.  
  
His ribs screamed as he breathed, and thick mucous-bile clogged his throat as he slowly pulled himself up onto the bed. He wheezed as he leaned against his aching chest as he crawled up the mattress. He panted as he finally made it. and wondered if he shouldn't just sneak out once Frieza fell asleep and take a hit. It would relieve this awful pain, and it wouldn't be bad to forget who he was for a few hours.  
  
A whine involuntarily tore its' way from his throat in denial of that thought. He was not going to end up like his mother. She was why he was going through hell at Orange Star. What she did ---  
  
He blocked the thought, not wishing to bring up unpleasant memories on top of this awful night. He closed his eyes and focused on trying to sleep. 


	5. Murder on My Mind

WARNING!! AUCHTANG!!! This chapter contains violent imagery, very very violent, and very very disturbing imagery. I am not kidding. This disturbs me, and I wrote it.  
  
I've marked off the parts with double asterisks (**), and hopefully I've italicized them as well. While these portions are a part of the overall plot, they are not necessary to understand the story as it continues. So those of you who are squeamish, I encourage you just to skip over those parts.  
  
Chapter Five: Murder on My Mind  
  
**Blood slipped through his fingers. He enjoyed the slick oily feel of the red liquid on his skin. A tongue came out to lick away a bead of the substance from his upper lip. He found he enjoyed the salty taste. it was like sucking on a penny.  
  
He lay before him, gasping for air that would serve no use to his ruined lungs. A vicious grin curled about his face as he saw the pain on the other man's face. He was finally suffering. He was finally getting retribution for all that the bastard had done to him.  
  
He crouched down beside the man, laughter beginning to rise up in his throat. He clutched the slippery knife in his hand, and with a quick jerk, slit it across the dying man's throat. The blood splashed his front and face, and the muffled giggles turned to full-throated shrieks of laughter.  
  
He sucked on his bloodied fingers, adrenaline urging him to continue the massacre. It wasn't any fun, however, now that the victim was dead. Perhaps he should not so quickly have granted mercy.  
  
He gathered up the mop and bucket and began to clean up the mess. It would be very bad to leave a mess. If he left a mess they'd only find him quicker, and finding him too quickly would mean he couldn't finish his work, and only bad boys didn't finish what they started.  
  
One down, and so many to go. There was no rest for the wicked; and he most certainly was wicked.  
  
Once the mopping had been done, he leaned down once more to the familiar corpse, and kissed it on the cheek.  
  
"Nighty-night, step-father."**  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Late summer had changed into its fall wardrobe, and soon it was putting on its mittens and snowcap.  
  
Bulma entwined her fingers with Yamucha's, smiling at her boyfriend of three months. The handsome baseball player had gotten over his nervousness and now they were having fun doing typical boyfriend and girlfriend activities.  
  
Bulma realized she probably didn't love him as anything more as a friend, and she had the feeling it was the same for Yamucha. They were friends with the benefits of make outs and occasional sex. They were convenient for each other. She supposed, given time, that she could learn to love him. They got along well; the physical attraction was there.  
  
High School romance, however, was not meant to be serious, she reminded herself, as she reached up to peck Yamucha on the cheek. High School itself was all about fun, the occasional fuck, and cramming for a miscellaneous exam.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"I had a test next period, you know." Juuhachi scowled.  
  
"Shut up, you're just pissed because I thought of this first."  
  
"Curse you."  
  
The twins pulled up to Orange Star High School's crowded parking lot. Their lunch period was starting, giving Juuhachi and Juunana the perfect opportunity to steal Vegeta away as the crowds flooded the halls.  
  
Using one of the unmanned side entrances they entered the building just as the bell rang. They entered the throng of students, searching for Vegeta in the mess. Finding him was a problem, as he was shorter than most of the people in the crowd, and his black clothes were as good as combat camouflage fatigues in the mass of people.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Someone snapped, and they both turned to see Vegeta glaring at them.  
  
"Perfect, our kidnap victim came to us." Juunana smirked.  
  
Vegeta frowned. "I have a test."  
  
"No, you don't. I checked Orange Star's homework page, not a one of your classes has a test notice."  
  
Vegeta scowled. Juunana noticed that Vegeta had lost weight, lots of it. His normally dark skin was a pale yellowish color and there were dark purple rings around his eyes almost an inch in diameter.  
  
"You look like shit." Juuhachi said frankly, spotting the same signs her twin had.  
  
"I haven't been sleeping." Vegeta muttered, rubbing a bony elbow. He looked dead exhausted, Juunana thought.  
  
"C'mon, we're taking you out to eat."  
  
"Why?" "Because you're too scrawny, doesn't Frieza give you any cash to go buy food?"  
  
Vegeta looked away, which was all the answer they needed.  
  
"Anyway, its your birthday." Juunana shrugged.  
  
Vegeta blinked at them, and a look of calculation passed on his face.  
  
"For a math whiz, you sure are bad at calculation. It's the thirteenth of November."  
  
"So it is." Vegeta mumbled, a faint blush climbing onto his cheeks.  
  
"Right, now we're going to Pizza Hogs." Juunana beamed.  
  
"No." Vegeta groaned. "Not there."  
  
"What!? You don't **like** their birthday song?" Juunana exclaimed loudly, causing several heads to turn and stare at the trio, and send Vegeta a dirty look.  
  
Vegeta sighed.  
  
"Let's just go."  
  
He was too late however, because Juunana had entered the cafeteria. Juuhachi groaned and smacked her head.  
  
"Hey everybody!" Juunana screamed as he climbed up on the table. "It's a special someone's birthday today, and I need you to help me wish him a happy birthday!"  
  
The cafeteria began to sing 'Happy Birthday', trying to pinpoint the recipient. No one spotted a furiously blushing Vegeta in the corner.  
  
"VEGETA!" Juunana screamed at the appropriate section. After that the song drifted off and died a miserable death as people went back to their eating. Vegeta's face was bright red by that time.  
  
"Fuckin' asshole." Vegeta snapped when Juunana came over.  
  
"Come on you two," Juuhachi sighed, herding the two boys towards the exit.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
** He entered the house quietly not wishing to disturb the other inhabitants of the house, who would alert his next victim.  
  
He crept up the stairs and into the bedroom where his prey slept peacefully. He gripped the sticky knife tight in his hand as he slowly opened the door. The man in the bed slept quietly, looking so much like both his sons.  
  
He did not deserve to die, he thought, as he slit the man's throat. They would be 'inconvenient' however, and therefore they had to be disposed of. His blood poured onto the sheets, and he thought absently that it would have made an interesting painting.  
  
He headed into the room across the hall where his true intentions for this night lay in bed.  
  
He picked up a baseball bat from the wall and came to stand over his victim. He reached out and shook the other's shoulder, awakening him. His eyes widened in shock, before he brought the bat down with just enough force to knock the other out. This one would not die before it was time.  
  
He pulled the duct tape out of his sack, and quickly set to securing his victim's hands and feet. The other was an excellent martial artist, who had bested him quite often. He would not best him tonight, however, because he would not accept defeat.  
  
Once he was finished he straddled the other man's hips, and picked up the knife. He dragged the blade on the perfect skin, just deep enough to draw blood. Slowly the other roused, and gave a shout. It was most unfortunate that his house was so far from any neighbors who could hear.  
  
"Hello," He smiled, realizing how disturbing it must have looked with all the blood on his face. He leaned down and caught the other's lips with his. He did not use his tongue, knowing that the shock that allowed him this kiss would wear off, and very soon he'd be missing the tip of his tongue.  
  
Almost unconsciously the blade found it's way to the boy's throat, where it sliced. The kiss mingled with blood.  
  
The other boy was still living, however. the knife had not cut deep enough, and the other still lived.**  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
She was so weak now. she hadn't meant to get this dependent on the miracle so fast. Things worked like that in this world it seemed. Pepper and salt, for instance, were highly prized commodities. Roman soldiers had been paid in salt. Rich lords had snorted pepper to get high. and now both were found in every kitchen, and given away for practically free.  
  
If only smack was given away as cheaply as pepper, she thought as she stared at her grandmother's locket. She'd already hocked her CD player, her sound system, her television. and this was the only remaining object that she had of value.  
  
She could vaguely recall the old woman who had given her this locket. Grandmother Meimei had helped raise her until her death when she was four. Her mother died birthing her and father had no idea what to do with a child, and so Grandmother had stepped in, determined to 'raise her right'.  
  
She had given her this gold locket engraved with minute flowers on her deathbed, explaining that it had been passed down from mother to daughter for at least six generations.  
  
She shouldn't just pawn something so precious.it was valuable family heirloom. her family would be so disappointed in her.  
  
She needed a hit though. and needed it desperately. Her stomach throbbed, hungering for solid food or more smack to keep the need at bay.  
  
She looked at the locket again, touching the tarnished patina. Everyone would be so mad at her.  
  
However, it was foolish to attach sentiments onto an object. In twenty years where would this locket most likely be? The chain was already starting to disintegrate. There would be nothing left but dusts soon. why hang on to it? Weren't the memories more important?  
  
She entered the pawnshop.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
The four slices of pizza had proven too much for Vegeta, who lay in a drowsy-not-quite-sleep state on his bed. He promised Juunana and Juuhachi that he'd come up and visit them more often. The stress of choosing colleges, harassing school counselors for grades and national test scores, submitting applications, and worrying over acceptance had alone exhausted him. Walking on proverbial eggshells around his stepfather, who was getting more and more easily provoked by the day had made him a near recluse in his room.  
  
Things had been tense recently, he could tell by his stepfather's demeanor. Most likely it was the police, they tried to bust his stepfather once and awhile. Not that they had ever succeeded. Part of him counted himself lucky on that; he didn't want to end up in a foster care system. The idea of being bounced from family to family, or living in a run-down hostel, was unappealing at best; and the added risk of perverts who liked to use the system to feed their twisted desires made it completely out of the question.  
  
He would not have problems with his stepfather; he chided himself for the umpteenth time, if he wouldn't provoke him. It was his duty to stay at home and watch the house; he needed to be on call for his stepfather's 'private' clientele. Those who were high up, and rich, to be seen hanging around a known dealer. It was not an unreasonable request. His stepfather had only asked him to perform the simple task every few months.  
  
His anger about finding him at the club was justified also. His stepfather was merely concerned about him. He shouldn't have just thrown himself at whatever his name was (a bad sign if he couldn't remember the other man's name), his stepfather had merely beaten him to frighten him away from doing such a stupid thing ever again.  
  
If he just were a little better.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
The talk he'd had with Toma at the pizza parlor two months back had helped Goku tolerate Vegeta' prescence. He no longer had the urge to take his former friend by the neck and wring the life from him. He hadn't forgiven him by a long shot, and would not associate with him freely, but he could at least be in the same room with the other teen.  
  
He realized that the other boy was, well, pathetic, and not worth the energy. He'd seen him come onto someone at a club, only to play 'nervous virgin' (his mind balked at the idea of Vegeta being a virgin) as things got too intimate. He was a skank, like so many of the scantily clad girls who hung around parties held by one of the varsity boys, always so willing to do anything with anybody anywhere.  
  
He also simply didn't have the time to fume about Vegeta's continued prescence on the Earth with college admissions coming up. He was an average student, and so his focus was less on his grade point and more on his points per game average. He knew that it would not be his brains that got him into a good college, but his court skills, and so he'd spent countless hours in both the school's and his personal weight rooms, ran miles every day, and practiced endless it seemed on the school's indoor basketball court.  
  
Even so, it wasn't as worrisome as to what was happening with Chichi. Even when he was working out he thought of what was wrong with her, and tried, fruitlessly, to come up with a cause.  
  
She'd lost so much weight recently that he could clearly feel her hipbone when he put an arm around her waist. Dark circles had taken up residence under her eyes, and her skin had become a pasty white instead of the light cream it had been when he'd first met her. She was always nervous now too, constantly stiff in preparation to flee. He couldn't understand why. He'd asked her if someone had threatened her, and she'd told him not to worry. He asked her constantly if something was wrong with her, and she snapped at him with more anger at each gesture of concern. She was perfectly fine, she said, he needn't be so clingy.  
  
He just thought he was being concerned.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
**He held his final victim down with rope to the bed. The man looked at him with no recognition. This angered him beyond the profound depths of insanity that he had previously waded in, and into something darker and uncharted. How dare he forget him!  
  
Random sharp stabs of the knife into the other's limbs accentuated his frenzied thoughts, he stabbed nothing vital, but with the man's shrieks of agony they sounded like they should have been. The weak bastard. He had no idea what **pain** was.  
  
"You don't remember me," He pouted, dragging the knife down his victim's cheek in a mocking lover's caress. He leaned in close to the panicked and clueless face with a leer so similar to the one the man had worn when he'd last seen him. "But I remember you."  
  
Assured that the bonds would hold the other down, he stood and moved towards the CD player. He pressed the play button, and the CD whirred to life. He set it to repeat the same song that had played the last time he'd met with the man. The same damned song that the other had played when---  
  
With a vicious grin he returned to his victim, his eyes dancing madly with the promise of pains far more gruesome than imaginable to most minds in the very near future.  
  
They were the eyes of death, black and cold. His pale face now almost as white as bone, his cheeks sunken to reveal the skull beneath. He was the Grim Reaper personified. He was Thanatos, the under appreciated god of Death. He took the souls to their eternal slumber, and this one soon would so rightly join the others in Hell.**  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)*** 


	6. Noel

Mucho thanks have to go to Suzumi and One Winged Angel, who graciously replied to my plea earlier this week. They have been most helpful.  
  
To answer one of the most frequently asked questions I have received (which makes me laugh with evil glee): Is Vegeta gay?  
  
Answer: You'll see.  
  
**looks over chapter** Gah, Vegeta and Chichi are **SUCH** pigs.  
  
Chapter Six: Noel  
  
How far she had fallen. she could barely look at snow now without thinking of **it**. She contemplated the muddy floor outside of apartment as she awaited the reply to her knock.  
  
She had stopped waiting for the special dealer in the park; she couldn't wait long enough for the next hit.  
  
Her heart raced as she heard the lock come undone. She needed that hit so badly. she could feel the shakes coming on.  
  
She'd been experimenting with quitting; she'd been clean for almost two days up until this point, when the shakes and the fever had become too powerful to ignore, and she'd found her last hit. It wasn't enough, though. Afterwards she'd snuck out of her room (where her aunt had confined her until she was better), and headed directly over to this apartment, where Cousin Keiko had said was where she got her 'supplies'.  
  
She was slightly disappointed to see Vegeta open the door. He'd taken to giving her dirty looks in the halls and the few classes they shared. He obviously disapproved of her habit. But he didn't know how stressful it was, how much she needed the cocoa plant.  
  
"He's not here," Vegeta said with fatigue in his voice. "I don't know where he is."  
  
"Don't you have any here?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Can I wait for him?"  
  
Vegeta sighed and opened the door, allowing her in.  
  
Chichi fought to keep her lip from curling at the shabby front room with its matted caramel brown carpet, and grungy matching brown couch. Pornography, car and sports magazines were strewn everywhere, along with empty chip bags and old pizza cartons.  
  
"You'll probably be more comfortable in my room." He mumbled, gesturing towards a door. She nodded eagerly, noting the noxious smell coming from a corner.  
  
Vegeta's room was by far cleaner than the rest of the apartment. The carpet was brushed up, although still that disgusting shade of brown. A ratty green felt blanket (much too light for the city's harsh winters) was neatly spread across the bed. It looked like a desperate attempt to appear normal. Why this thought occurred to her she didn't know. maybe it was because she had always seen Vegeta as 'exotic'. After all, he was the only gay guy in the school; in fact he was the only gay person she knew period. That he should live in such a dull room did not hold with the images she held of him. She had imagined something dark, with lots of pictures from scary- looking bands looming on the walls, and perhaps the occasional image of a half-naked man.  
  
The white undecorated walls mocked her preconceptions of the boy she realized in her haze of need that she hardly knew.  
  
He looked at her with discomfort from his position in the doorway. Her eye was caught the framed photo sitting on the cheap plywood dresser. She picked up, and was surprised to see Goku in the shot with Vegeta. She had known that the two had been friends. she guessed the shot had been taken in their freshman year, back before Vegeta had hit on Radditz.  
  
"Back when I was normal." Vegeta mumbled, when she compared the happy fifteen-year-old to the brooding eighteen-year-old. Amazing how much one can change in two years. not that she could judge. She certainly had changed from ten months ago.  
  
She replaced the photo, and sat down on the bed. Vegeta took that as a signal to relax, and sat on the other side of the bed.  
  
Absently she began to read the handwritten labels of the computer-burned CDs that sat on a pile beside an ancient CD player, the process got her mind off of the hot flashes she was suffering. New Found Glory, MxPx. so many she hadn't heard of.  
  
"What time does your mom get home from work?" She asked after finishing reading the titles, and searching for something else to take her mind off her aching body.  
  
"She's dead." He muttered, and she must have looked at him with pity, because he shrugged. "It was awhile back."  
  
"Oh." She turned away to study the pilling on the blanket. She could sympathize, her mother too was dead. but she had never known her, and that made the pain a little lesser in some respects, she'd never gotten attached. although she did note the absence of a 'mother' figure in her youth after the death of her Grandmother.  
  
"So how are you doing on that essay from Mr. Bartolowitz?" She asked a moment later, desperate to get the conversation going again.  
  
"It's okay. I can't say that writing about the life-cycles of mold is a terribly exciting project however."  
  
Chichi snorted in agreement.  
  
"Are you sure there isn't even a little--?"  
  
Vegeta shook his head. "The cops have been tailing him recently, he doesn't keep any in the apartment anymore incase they get a search warrant."  
  
"Oh," She whispered again, paling severely. What if they came here and found her? How would she live down the shame of being **arrested** for drug possession? Her father would never want to speak to her again, and she'd never get into a single college if they sent her to a rehab clinic.  
  
She didn't realize she'd begun to shake until Vegeta put an arm around her. Unfortunately, the vomiting that had seemingly abated when she left the house suddenly returned, leaving a putrid acidic puddle in the middle of Vegeta's lap.  
  
"M'sorry." She mumbled, embarrassed.  
  
"It's okay, I'm used to it." Vegeta sighed. "You're not going to vomit again do you think?" She shook her head mutely.  
  
He stood and went over to the dresser and pulled out a fresh pair of pants. She blushed as he yanked down the pair he was wearing and bent over to pull on the clean ones. She unwillingly noticed the nice ass he had, thanks to the clingy white briefs. Why couldn't he have just worn boxers?  
  
He sat back down on the bed, seemingly unaware of the effect that he'd just had on her. It was such a shame he was gay, she thought, before scolding herself. She already had a boyfriend, it wasn't right to think about another guy, especially one he hated, like that.  
  
Still, it was a shame.  
  
There was a knock at the door, and Vegeta stood, leaving her alone in his room. She was tempted to go and join him, but the look he had sent her before he shut the door to his room indicated that he didn't want her following him.  
  
The voices of two jovial men came through the thin walls, neither of which she recognized. After a few moments she got unsteadily to her feet and went to the door, she didn't want to be alone, and these men might have something in which she could buy.  
  
Opening the door she found two tall men surrounding a slouched Vegeta. One was well built with a pretty face and long hair and the other fat to the point of obesity and a horrendous case of acne.  
  
"Fuck anyone recently, fagboy?" The fat one chortled, sounding very much like a pig. He even snorted.  
  
The handsome one looked back, he must have heard Vegeta's door creak open, and leered at her.  
  
"You're wrong, Dodoria." He said, smirking at her. "Look at the little cunt that just stumbled out of his room." He turned to sneer at Vegeta, who was glaring at her.  
  
She flushed at being addressed as a 'cunt'; no one had ever called her that!  
  
"Did we interrupt you?" The fat one said with nasty insinuation.  
  
"A nice piece like that is wasted on him." The tall one snorted, looking at her with lust in his eyes.  
  
He came towards her, and she realized how weak her legs were, and how there was no probability that she could get away from the man if he forced his intentions.  
  
"Leave her alone, Zarbon." Vegeta snapped from his position in the corner where Dodoria trapped him.  
  
"What are you going to do, bitch?" Zarbon drawled.  
  
"Frieza'll be pissed. You know you're not supposed to fuck with paying customers." Vegeta glared at Zarbon.  
  
"It's bad for business." A new voice said, as he entered the room.  
  
He was a short man, pale, with a shiny shaved head. He wore a dark purple leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses with red lenses. Vegeta and the two men cowered as he glared at them.  
  
"What have I told you, Zarbon?" Frieza sighed with exasperation, like he was explaining something for the millionth time to a particularly stupid kindergartner. "You don't get to play with them until they're high. That way they don't remember."  
  
"Yes, sir." Zarbon said, ducking his head.  
  
Frieza then turned to her, and she shuddered under the force of his bland look. His eyes were so cold; she could see why Vegeta and the others were so afraid of him. He wasn't even looking at her with then menace he had been the others.  
  
"You want a hit?" He sighed with boredom. She nodded frantically in response.  
  
He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a packet bursting with enough to keep her going for at least a week. She immediately snatched for it, only to have him hold it out of her grasp.  
  
"Money first." He said flatly, holding out an expectant hand.  
  
She dug in her pants pockets and practically threw a wad of twenties at him. He chuckled as he counted the money out, while she anxiously bounced from foot to foot.  
  
"One more thing." He asked, and she felt in that moment she would have done anything he asked for that little plastic baggie of salvation.  
  
"Did you fuck him?" He jerked his head at Vegeta, who was crouching into the corner now.  
  
"No." she said, too bothered to lie.  
  
"Ah. pity. I'd hoped." He tossed the coke at her, and she caught it with shaky hands. "Now get out of here."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"Perfect! Now hold it!"  
  
She was posed uncomfortably bending over the open hood of large truck, looking over her shoulder. The platform sneakers she was wearing really weren't great for gripping the chrome bumper she was standing on. She felt as if she'd slip right off and break her ass if she had to stand there a second more.  
  
Several flashes of light went off before the photographer told her to get down and get changed. She did so gladly, hopping down and heading over to the small closet that passed for a dressing room. Checking the list, she pulled down the corresponding dress.  
  
It was the middle of winter, and they were already shooting summer fashions, it was kind of mind boggling. At least they had better heating than they did air conditioning. Wearing down jackets in eighty-five degree weather had **not** been her idea of a good time.  
  
The skimpy sundress was made of a light cream material with peaches painted onto it. It was not that good looking of a dress, but it was only a publicity shot, this dress would never get out into stores. that she was glad of.  
  
She stepped into the beige high-heeled sandals, and prayed that she wouldn't be climbing on anything.  
  
As she re-entered the shoot room, she was surprised to see Yamucha standing in the corner. He wore that silly Santa Claus hat that one of his friends had given him on Friday as an early birthday present. Seeing the photographer still tinkering with the lights, she headed over towards Yamucha.  
  
"How'd you get in here?" She asked. "They normally don't allow anyone in here."  
  
"I told them I was your brother." He said with a impish grin. She playfully swatted her arm.  
  
"I'll bet they believed that." She said with heavy irony and a roll of her eyes.  
  
"They let me in, didn't they?" He asked, putting a hand on her hip. She immediately pushed it off.  
  
"No touching, this dress is worth more than your life, and I don't know where your hands have been."  
  
"I know where they'd like to be." Yamucha leered at her, motioning to her breasts. She smacked him again.  
  
"After the shoot." She said, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she saw the photographer glare at her impatiently. She returned to the truck, dreading what contortion she'd have to hold this time.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He would swear in all the courts of law in the known universe that he'd just seen an angel. He felt the urge to call heaven to make sure there hadn't been an escape.  
  
Her hips swung as she walked about the store, fixing displays and refolding clothes. He was ashamed to admit that he was following her, hiding behind racks of clothes. So far he'd followed her around the store at least three times.  
  
Her corn silk blonde hair swayed attractively in its shoulder-length bob. His fingers ached to run through it. Her cyan-blue eyes glimmered in the harsh fluorescent light of the store.  
  
"Juuhachi!" A chunky girl at the register of the store shouted, holding a phone on one shoulder. "Can you cover me for a few minutes, I've got a crisis going on a home,"  
  
"Yeah," Juuhachi replied.  
  
Juuhachi, now his saint had a name.  
  
The other girl ran off, and Juuhachi took her place at the cash register. Working up his nerve he picked up a knit cap (that would set him back an astounding eighteen dollars), and made his way towards the front. He was the only one in line; in fact, he was the only customer in the store, which bolstered his confidence. There would be only one witness if he made an idiot of himself.  
  
"Hi." He said, setting the hat down on the counter.  
  
"Will that be all?" She asked, her voice reminding him of the sound of a clarinet, sweet and low.  
  
"Yeah." He felt himself blush at the stupid monosyllabic answers he was giving.  
  
She rang up the hat, and put it into a small plastic sack.  
  
"Would you like to join the Verbatim Shoppers club? Join today and get ten percent off your next purchase."  
  
"Nah." He sounded like an idiot.  
  
"The total comes to eighteen dollars."  
  
Wordlessly, to save himself more embarrassment, he handed over the money, and took the bag.  
  
"Have a good day!" She called after him.  
  
"You too, Juuhachi." He whispered as he exited the store.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He waited impatiently for Bulma to finish up her shoot. He had reason, he thought, today was his birthday, and he wanted to know what Bulma had gotten him. She'd hinted for the last two weeks about what it was, and it was nearly driving him up the wall with curiosity.  
  
His mother had gotten him clothes (as usual), Yolanda had given him some homemade play goop (he wondered if she hadn't just found it growing in the back of her messy closet. it smelled like it), Krillen gave him the cap he was currently wearing, and the only person left was Bulma.  
  
He wished his father had bothered to send something. Well, something other than the postcard informing him that 'your teeth are late for their very important date'. Doctor Yemen Marko was a very busy dentist. He was so busy between his patients at the uptown clinic and pleasing his nymphomaniac girlfriend and assistant that he had absolutely no time to even call up his oldest son and wish him a happy eighteenth. Yamucha's temporary bad mood was alleviated when Bulma came towards him again, dressed in **her** casual clothes.  
  
"So what did you get me?" He asked impatiently as soon as they were out the studio.  
  
"I'll give it to you in the car." She teased, smiling at him.  
  
Smirking, he dropped behind her, before scooping her up in her arms. She shrieked with laughter as he carried her out to his beat up truck parked on the sidewalk. He set her down carefully on the icy cement. He opened the door, and ushered her inside, before running around to the driver's side and hopping in.  
  
"Now can I have it?" He asked eagerly.  
  
She laughed and started to dig through her large purse. At the rate she was going, and the size of that purse, it might be ages before she found it.  
  
She pulled out enveloped card and handed it to him. He opened it immediately, and instead of finding a card, he found two tickets.  
  
"You got tickets for a New Found Glory?" He said with awe. "They've been sold out for months."  
  
"I'm rich," She shrugged. "I've got connections."  
  
"You sound like you're a mafia princess." He snorted.  
  
"Maybe I am."  
  
"I'd better be good then." He smirked, before leaning over to kiss her. Her lips pressed harder into his, and his tongue quested into her mouth, where hers gladly met it with enthusiasm. He could feel her breast pressing against his chest, and his hands slid to her sides.  
  
She pulled away from all of the sudden, leaving him disappointed and wanting. He pouted at her, causing her to smirk.  
  
"Not here, and anyways, I don't want to give you your second birthday present early, it'd ruin the surprise."  
  
He chuckled as he put the keys into the ignition and started the ancient vehicle up. 


	7. Little Town of Bethlehem

I forgot to mention last chapter, but the bands: MxPx and New Found Glory are REAL bands. NFG and MxPx both do covers (which are excellent and sometimes hilarious) as well as many of their own songs. If you've got time and the hard drive space, go check them out. (Especially "Teenage Politics" by MxPx and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by New Found Glory)  
  
**Looks frazzled** Wow. three chapters in relatively three days. **blinks tiredly** I'm going to take a SHORT break from this fic. I need to regroup my thoughts and all. I also have summer school work that is demanding to be sent in. That and I'm going to start a new fic in a different fandom. (Invader Zim, for those interested. Fans of the show will have noticed a few bits that I nicked from the show. Crazy Taco, for instance.)  
  
Chapter Seven: Little Town of Bethlehem  
  
Zarbon and Dodoria as well as some of their fellow thug friends had just exited with their wares. His stepfather gave an aggrieved sigh as he slid off his jacket and sat down on the couch. Vegeta peered up cautiously from the pot where he was boiling an egg for his Christmas dinner.  
  
"Good job, you did a few days ago. I didn't think you'd have the balls, being a fag and all." He stepfather said after a moment. He motioned him to join him on the couch, which Vegeta did with hesitation after turning off the stove.  
  
"Those dickweeds." His stepfather grumbled. "You can't leave them alone for an instant, or they'll start humping something. The last thing they need to be humping is Chichi Mau."  
  
His stepfather put an arm around him then, a gesture of affection, something Vegeta had never experienced from his stepfather. Warmth burst from some portion of his body, an alien feeling in such close proximity to his stepfather who had never touched him but to hit him before.  
  
"Chichi Mau's Uncle is the Chief of Police, anyone who fucks with her guarantees trouble for me." His stepfather squeezed his shoulder with affection. "Stopping them probably saved me from a cold jail cell."  
  
It was like he was in the Twilight Zone. His stepfather wasn't supposed to compliment him, to thank him. He was supposed to hate him, to smack him around and call him awful names.  
  
He couldn't say he was upset with the change, however.  
  
"Do you have homework?" His stepfather grunted, pulling away from him slightly.  
  
"No, I - I finished already."  
  
His stepfather smiled at him, an honest, pleasant smile. It startled Vegeta more than it should have, considering how weird this night seemed to be.  
  
"Good, let's go out to eat tonight," His stepfather suggested.  
  
"That'd be great." ***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
It was the first Christmas, and the grief counselor had said it would probably be the hardest. Of course it would be, seeing as both his mother and his brother were gone. Toma may have eased some of the gap that the two others had normally filled, but he would trade Toma for an evening with Radditz and his mother.  
  
He missed the cookies his mother would bake on Christmas Eve. He could practically smell them. Except it wasn't real. even though it was Christmas Eve.  
  
He could hear Toma cooking the turkey in the kitchen. and he seemed to be having trouble judging from how loudly he was cursing.  
  
Goku got up off the floor from his position in front of the Christmas tree with a sigh.  
  
"How y'doin?" He asked, peeking his head into the kitchen. He gagged at the plume of smoke that filled his nostrils.  
  
"Fuckin' chicken!" Toma shouted in the direction of the oven as he waved the smoke away from his face with a dishrag.  
  
"I thought it was a turkey?"  
  
"Whatever it was, its charcoal now." Toma snarled as he opened the window to let out the smoke.  
  
Toma sighed as he opened the oven and carefully pulled out the charred turkey. The skin looked like it was pulled taut over the bones.  
  
"How'd you get it like **that**?"  
  
"I honestly don't know. but how do you feel about going out to eat tonight? Your dad called just a minute ago, apparently he's working late again." Toma didn't look him in the eye as he said the last part.  
  
His father had been working overtime quite a lot recently. he hardly ever saw him anymore. He supposed that it was all part of the grieving process. but his father wasn't the only one suffering.  
  
"Sure, let's go." Goku shrugged half-heartedly.  
  
Toma looked at him with sympathy and pity, which only made Goku feel worse.  
  
"Let's go to Hog Heaven, they'll be open still."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Yamucha boredly flipped through the endless channels of Christmas specials. He'd either seen them a million times over, or the same movies were airing on other channels. He hated Christmas.  
  
His birthday had passed two days, and all his presents had gotten lumped up into his Hanukah gifts. Christmas was always such a let down when you celebrated something other than Christianity. Nobody hyped up for Hanukah. It was even worse when your birthday was two days before Christmas.  
  
There was a knock at the door, and as he was about to get up, it swung open. In stepped a man dressed in a Santa Claus costume, with some blonde in a skimpy elf outfit.  
  
"Ho, ho, ho. Happy Hanukah." Said the unmistakable voice of his father. He scowled, and didn't stand up to greet his father.  
  
"Hanukah was almost three weeks ago." He said, before returning his attention to the television screen.  
  
His mother smacked him on the back of the head from her position on the couch beside him.  
  
"Yolanda!" She called upstairs, where his sister was playing. "Someone's here to see you!"  
  
The rapid thumps of his sister's footsteps could be heard before she reached the top of the staircase.  
  
"Santa!" She cried eagerly, and then ran down the steps. Some of her classmates had been giving her a hard time, Yamucha knew, because she didn't celebrate Christmas. He'd suffered the same thing in his Elementary school.  
  
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she let loose another shriek of "Daddy!"  
  
His father hugged his sister, and Yamucha sighed, and pulled himself out of his chair. His father was at least attempting to be sociable, and he supposed he should do the same.  
  
"Here are your Christmas presents!" His father said proudly, pulling two large boxes out of a sack he had slung across his shoulder.  
  
"We hope you like them!" Maria giggled.  
  
Yolanda eagerly tore into hers, and revealed a doll, which she anxiously freed from its cardboard packaging. He was a bit more restrained as he opened his package. The wrapping paper gave way to reveal a clothing box, which he opened.  
  
Inside was a baseball jersey for the Eastern City Samurai. He was diehard Western City Dragons fan, which his father should have known. He wanted to scream. Where had the father of nine months ago gone? The one who'd cheered for him at every game, and taken him out for a congratulatory milkshake even if he'd lost the game?  
  
"You like it?" Maria bubbled, and Yamucha did not look up from the jersey, otherwise he'd have sent Maria a look that would have fried her unnaturally tan skin.  
  
She'd been the one to steal his father. working whatever bizarre feminine magic she had stored between her thighs. He hated her.  
  
"It's perfect," He said with a false smile.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
There were so many people. her chest was tight at the sight of them. They mingled and chatted without noticing her peering down from the balcony of the staircase. She was wearing a nice red velvet dress, which her aunt, who had designed and made it herself, was anxious to show off.  
  
She couldn't go down the stairs though. There were so many police officers there that were her Uncle's co-workers and friends that one of them would spot her, and know what she'd been doing. They'd throw her out in the snow, banish her from the family, and she would be alone.  
  
"Chichi, why don't you show off your new dress?" Her aunt called. She gripped the railing in apprehension.  
  
"I-I-don't feel well." She called back faintly.  
  
Her aunt frowned and jogged up the stairs; an amazing feat in the stilettos she was wearing. She held a hand to her head, and Chichi reached up absently with a tissue she'd taken to carrying around to wipe her runny nose.  
  
"You are pretty warm, I thought your flu had gone away." Her aunt pouted. "Do you feel really bad?"  
  
Chichi nodded desperately, and attempted to look more pathetic.  
  
"Alright, go in and rest, I hope your better by tomorrow, your father's coming over for Christmas dinner."  
  
Chichi did not have to fake her blanch. Her father was coming.  
  
He would notice. as dim as he sometimes appeared, he'd notice immediately how much she'd changed. she'd lost so much weight (the smack had taken the urge to eat away from her) and he'd notice and be so ashamed.  
  
She rushed to the bathroom, her fear and paranoia causing her to vomit up her stomach acids.  
  
Why had she gotten herself into this mess?  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
If Celipa were alive, she'd be cooking Christmas dinner. She'd be wearing her special 'Christmas apron' made of stiff green cotton with a felt Christmas tree on the chest that Radditz had made her in kindergarten. She'd be humming with the Christmas songs playing on the radio, her hips swaying slightly as she retrieved the ham from the oven.  
  
Radditz would be in front of the tree, desperately shaking each of his presents, trying to figure out what could possibly be contained within their wrapped depths. Most of the times he was right, he had a very sharp set of ears. He and Celipa had been triple packaging his presents since he was eight-years-old because of it.  
  
Goku would be making final adjustments to the Christmas stockings, making sure each one was free of holes and the packing popcorn they were normally kept in between holidays. He'd be dressed in his pajamas already, he'd have been wearing them since six-o-clock in the evening, as he anxiously awaited for Santa to come, even though he was too old for it, and he knew there really was no Santa Claus.  
  
He'd be in the bedroom, making Christmas calls to friends, neighbors and family, his stomach growling from the smell of his wife's cooking.  
  
He took another sip of coffee and roused himself from his dreamland. He had work to do.  
  
None of it that couldn't wait, his conscience reminded him, before he told it, firmly, to shut the hell up.  
  
Christmases just weren't Christmases without the whole family together. and he knew he'd cry if he came home to a decorated house, but no Celipa in the kitchen and no Radditz under the tree. He couldn't deal with crying.  
  
It was all incredibly unfair to Goku, he realized. The two of them had been growing more distant of late, and he knew soon he would loose the boy totally to college and the real world.  
  
But he couldn't go to a single one of his games without thinking about Radditz. He couldn't sit down to dinner in their now too empty house without seeing Celipa scowling at the pile of dirty dishes. He did the dishes when Celipa cooked. he always rather enjoyed it.  
  
Now he couldn't even look at a damn dish without thinking about a conversation they'd had over the kitchen counter. Whether it was about bills, what trouble Radditz had gotten into, Goku's grades, or what they were going to do when they got old and the kids were gone.  
  
He hated the holidays.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
For one time in the year the Briefs had a quiet meal at the scarcely used dining room table. There was no talk of business on this night, and the food was prepared from scratch instead of out of a box. It was a very special night.  
  
"So, how are things going with your boyfriend, Bulma?" Her mother asked, as she cut off a slice of perfectly tender roast beef.  
  
"Yamucha?" Bulma shrugged. "He's fine. He took me out to see a movie last week," She shrugged. They really hadn't paid attention to the movie; they'd chosen a bad movie purposely for the chance to make out.  
  
She must have blushed because her father chuckled knowingly.  
  
"And what was the movie about, Bulma?" He goaded, after he finished slurping down fettuccine noodles like a small child.  
  
"It was about a girl whose parents tease her far too much, and she went crazy at the dinner table on Christmas Eve." She said flippantly, tossing her hair back.  
  
Both her parents chuckled.  
  
They very liberal, and Bulma realized that she was very blessed that they were so. The 'sex talk' she'd received at twelve from her mother had been very short and to the point: 'Whenever your ready, go for it, just make sure you either love him or he's really cute'.  
  
Her father had no objections to any of the boys she'd ever brought home, sensing that they were flings on her part rather than serious relationships. He had confidence in her sensibility and reason, and trusted her completely.  
  
She enjoyed it when they sat together like this. it was so rare. She continued to eat her beef stroganoff while enjoying the simple pleasure of being a family.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Apparently many people had had the same idea as his stepfather, and had come out to eat tonight. It was mostly people who had no family to go to tonight, and they all seemed to have convened at the MacMeaties burger joint.  
  
His stepfather had ordered a large greasy MacMeaties Maximo burger, with a large order of fries. He'd ordered a MacMeaties salad, and they'd both gone to a booth to sit.  
  
They ate quietly; they didn't have much to talk about after all. His stepfather dealt in the drug world, and he struggled through an uppity prep school, they didn't have much in common.  
  
"Your mother liked MacMeaties salads too." Frieza muttered between bites of his burger.  
  
"Oh?" He asked, hoping his stepfather would drop it. He didn't like talking about his mother.  
  
"Yeah, she'd come down here after a binge and eat like five of them." His stepfather said with a snort of laughter. "She'd come back home with bits of carrots in her hair sometimes."  
  
Vegeta gave a half-hearted chuckle at that.  
  
His stepfather then looked outside for a moment, before leaving the booth. Vegeta let out a sigh. Business. it had to be. He picked at his salad. What he wouldn't give to be normal for one night of the year.  
  
"Here." He looked up and was surprised to see his stepfather had reappeared, with a package in his hands. "I know it doesn't make up for much, but I thought that this'd be a start."  
  
Vegeta looked at the box curiously before carefully unwrapping it. Clearing away the hastily taped newspaper revealed a polished oak box. His heart thudded with excitement. He flicked the latch open to reveal a case of pastels, watercolors, charcoals, and tiny tubes of acrylics. A quick check revealed no smashed tagging device --- meaning that his stepfather had actually bothered to **buy** something for him.  
  
"I saw how you liked to draw so much, and, well, I spotted it in a store --- " His stepfather shrugged uncomfortably. "I hope you like it." He mumbled.  
  
"I love it," He whispered, stroking the smooth case. 


	8. Fresh Start

I would like to remind everyone that this story is not for the homophobic, or those not willing to see Vegeta not with Bulma. Any bitching will only result in me getting pissed and adding more of the offensive couple. Oh, how they will be offensive. So offensive. **smirks**  
  
Anyway, this is a more 'light-hearted' chapter.  
  
Chapter Eight: Fresh Start  
  
He awoke with a strangled shriek of animalistic pleasure and fear. He was bathed in sweat, and he glared in the darkness at his hands, trying to assure himself that the moisture was not blood. His breath was labored, and muscles twitched involuntarily along his half-seated body.  
  
God, how could he have dreamt that? What was wrong with him? It was sick and wrong to think of those things. There was no justification to do those things, even if it was only in his imagination. What demon had come to haunt him?  
  
His stepfather entered the room, and he instinctively cringed. His stepfather had been decent the whole of Christmas vacation. Guilt ate at him as he remembered the dream he'd just been having. There was so much blood.  
  
He could see the blunt his stepfather was smoking in the darkness. His stepfather was willing to mix up his drug selection every once and awhile. especially when they were between shipments from Latin America.  
  
"Bad dream?" His stepfather asked, sitting on the bed beside him. Vegeta had to suppress the hysterical giggles in his throat as he nodded. It was so weird, his stepfather acting so --- paternal.  
  
His stepfather took the joint out of his mouth and offered it to him. He blinked.  
  
"Take it." His stepfather said gruffly. "You've got school tomorrow and I want to see you come up with some good artwork from that set I bought you." He grumbled, jerking the joint in his direction again. He sounded irritated, the first time he'd sounded like that in these two weeks. it was not a good sign.  
  
He took the joint with fumbling fingers. Part of him cringed at what he was about to do. Another part of him told that part to shut the fuck up, because there were infinitely worse drugs that he could be doing other than weed, and it would most likely stop the dream from coming again and he could finally fucking sleep!  
  
He took an inexperience huff from the blunt, and gagged immediately at the taste. The scent wasn't any more pleasing to the senses. He coughed loudly and passed the joint back to his stepfather, who smirked and patted his back. He felt like he was retching out his organs.  
  
"Good boy," His stepfather said proudly. "You'll get the hang of it."  
  
However the lightheaded free-floating that he'd always heard about came, and he felt his body relax, for the first time in what felt like months. Frieza shoved the joint back in his mouth and he obligingly took another deeper inhalation of the smoking plant.  
  
"Damn." He muttered.  
  
"Yeah, it's some good shit. Got it from Canada. They got great shit there." His stepfather patted him on the back once more, before taking the joint and heading back into the front room.  
  
He lay back onto the bed after a moment, and reveled in feelings of calm that infiltrated his body.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
She had survived the dinner with her father. She thanked the heavens for his obliviousness. They didn't suspect her, which meant that she really couldn't be addicted to the coke. After all, people always caught on to the coke addicts. If they didn't catch her, then she wasn't addicted. That made sense.  
  
It was the first day of the new semester, and she was eager to get back to the school. Being at school meant an excuse to go see Vegeta after it, and eventually get a hit. Vegeta could protect her too, as stepson of the dealer.  
  
She adjusted her skirt one last time, before heading out the door and into her car.  
  
She turned the keys in the ignition, and glared at the hula dancer sitting on her dashboard. The hula girl was dad's 'inspired' gift for Christmas, as well as a two hundred dollar spending spree. He had no clue. Part of her was angry that he didn't discover her bad habit. He should have noticed how thin she'd become, how different and secretive she'd become. How her grades had started to dip from their perfect As to mixed As and Bs. He should have known!  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"You're going to counseling again." His father muttered over his mug of coffee.  
  
Goku froze with his spoon of Count Cocoa's in mid-air. He glared at his father.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You know why. You just don't seem to be handling it well, you've been getting into fights at school."  
  
"You noticed did you?" Goku slammed his spoon down. "Who are you to say I'm not coping? You have hardly been home since they left!" He snarled. "That fight was nearly four months ago, I think I've been 'coping' well."  
  
"Your school psychologist suggested it." Bardock said resentfully. "Your appointment's at three, be sure and show up." He snapped, before leaving the table.  
  
Goku fumed as he tossed the half-eaten bowl of cereal into the sink, chipping the rim. Toma entered the kitchen and sighed.  
  
"It's only three appointments. they're only an hour and it won't kill you. It might help talking to someone who wasn't involved in the mess some way or another. After that, me and you can start working on your father to go."  
  
Goku sighed.  
  
"I guess."  
  
He hefted his bag over his shoulder and headed out toward school.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
His teeth gritted as he entered the school building. He hated it so much. Scrunching up his shoulders he shoved the doors open, and entered the wretched building.  
  
The noise level was almost painful after two weeks of near silence in the apartment. His stepfather was up early and out late for the most part, and that had left him a lot of time alone. The barrage of mindless chatter made his skull throb.  
  
Closing his eyes, he stalked towards his locker, knowing that people would move, for the most part, out of his way. Once everyone had known what had happened **that** night, they gave him a wide berth.  
  
His faith in the universe was challenged quite rudely when he bumped into somebody. He opened his eyes to glare at the blue haired girl. He'd been the one he'd seen on the bus one day. she was new, and her name was ---  
  
"You could say excuse me." She sneered as she picked up the pencils from the floor. "Maybe you should watch where you walk?" She suggested with heavy irony as she stood.  
  
He cocked an eyebrow at her that he knew gave him a superior air. She looked pretty pissed off as he walked past her without her word, which was just what he wanted. He liked it when he could tick them off. It was a cheap thrill, but he had to get them where he could.  
  
"Fuck you, Vegeta." She spat.  
  
This he couldn't resist. He turned around, gave her an appraising look, and tilted his nose up in a haughty fashion.  
  
"Not my type," He shrugged before heading over to his locker. He heard her snarl incoherently, and he let himself have a smirk of self-satisfaction.  
  
It was so wrong to enjoy their frustration, he reminded himself. It really wasn't better than what they were doing to him. One had to fight fire with fire though, and whilst in Rome do as the Romans do, and all that other crap.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"Hey! Yamucha!" The coach called, and Yamucha obediently jogged over to the trim older man.  
  
"Yes, coach?" He asked, jogging in place to keep his blood flowing.  
  
"You are going out for the team with us this year, aren't you?" He asked.  
  
"Do you have to ask?" Yamucha shrugged.  
  
"Just making sure. I'm opening up the weight room in the afternoons until six, if you want to come work out --- "  
  
"That'd be great! I can work on getting more strength behind my swing."  
  
"Exactly." The coach said enthusiastically. "East has an excellent pitcher this year, and I want you to be ready for him."  
  
"I will, don't worry. We'll tromp them like we do every year!"  
  
"That's the spirit!"  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He scowled as he stood in the elevator. Adam and Michael had jumped in with him, otherwise he would have walked, but the doors had shut, leaving him trapped with the two idiots.  
  
They too were on Orange Star's scholarship program, but Vegeta suspected it was more because they filled the 'disadvantaged' quota, and they could play football rather well, than their brains that got them into the school.  
  
They were currently tossing insults at him, which they didn't seem to notice he was ignoring. Today had proven to be mostly a waste of time, as usual, and for some reason this irritated him.  
  
"He must be on the rag, Mike."  
  
The twin idiots chortled as the elevator came to a halt and they stepped out.  
  
"Go fuck yourselves." He said as he marched down to his apartment (thankfully on the opposite wing of theirs).  
  
"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Someone asked, causing him to jump.  
  
A man, about in his twenties, had a box in his arms, and a smirk on his face as he stared at him. His skin was pale with a slight green cast, and his short hair was dyed green. He wore a muscle t-shirt with a name he could not place on it, and a pair of tight denim jeans.  
  
He was most definitely good looking. He shouldn't get involved though. no matter how much he wanted to.  
  
"It's a skin condition." The man sighed, scratching his cheek.  
  
"Huh?" Was the most intelligent sound that came out of his mouth.  
  
"That's why my skin's slightly green."  
  
"Oh." Vegeta shrugged. "So you're the new neighbor?"  
  
"Yeah," the other man set his box down. "My name's Piccolo Daimou."  
  
"How apt you should be in a band then." He offered his hand as he jerked his head to the box full of sheet music.  
  
"Yeah. And your name is?" The other man took his hand firmly.  
  
"Vegeta Saiyajinn."  
  
"Interesting name." Vegeta shrugged indifferently. He seemed to be doing a lot of shrugging. "You wouldn't happen to be a singer, would you?" He looked at him hopefully.  
  
"I can't sing worth crap. Why?"  
  
"Damn. I was hoping it'd be like the movies, you know, they have this pregnant pause, and then someone asks a question and the person they're talking to says 'I can do that'." His smirk widened, shining flashing white teeth. Vegeta felt himself chuckle. "Maybe I should get back to reality though," He sighed, picking up his box again.  
  
"You going anywhere Friday night?" Piccolo asked as Vegeta slid his key into the front lock.  
  
"I don't have plans, no." Vegeta said, looking at Piccolo curiously out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"My band's got a gig Friday, and we're getting paid extra for every head we bring in beyond the normal capacity." He shifted his box and pulled out a card from his back pocket. He had nice thighs, Vegeta noticed. "You're eighteen, right?" He nodded. "Great, that'll get you into the club section at least." Piccolo stared at the card. "You don't mind **alternative** genres do you?"  
  
"What do you think?" Vegeta gestured to himself.  
  
"Thought not, but better safe than having an angry parent on your ass. Here's the card for where we'll be playing. Flash 'em the card and they'll give you a discount on the fee." He handed him the card.  
  
"See you there?" Piccolo said as he started to back into his apartment.  
  
"I'll try."  
  
"Great! I'd like to eat!"  
  
Vegeta smirked at that, as he opened his own door and entered. He shouldn't build up his hopes. He risked a peek at the card, and grinned as he saw the name of one of biggest gay clubs in town. He'd never been, but he'd heard of it.  
  
This was too good to be true.  
  
"You met the fag next door?" His stepfather called from his position on the couch. Vegeta cringed at the term 'fag', his stepfather was not sensitive to others feelings, and it hurt when his stepfather went on a rant about 'dirty homos'.  
  
"You mean Piccolo?" He asked, hanging up his jacket. "Yeah. Can I go out Friday?"  
  
"Sure." His stepfather grunted. "Stay out as late as you want, I'm not going to be here either." His stepfather was silent for a moment, "You're going to that club the fag's playin' at right?"  
  
"Yeah." Vegeta said with hesitation. "He got me a discounted pass in, I don't see why I shouldn't take advantage of it." He added nervously: "Unless you don't want me to go?"  
  
"Nah, go ahead, at least I know that when your with the fags you're not knocking up some dumb bitch." His stepfather sighed.  
  
His stepfather was in self-reflective and sober mood. a rare thing.  
  
"Why did you marry my mom?" He asked, surprising himself.  
  
"I suppose because I was on a binge, your mom was hot, and it sounded like a good idea at the time." Frieza shrugged. "I just woke up five days afterward, and she was laying in bed with me. I figured 'what the hell' and never got around to annulling it." Frieza lit up a plain tobacco cigarette, "Not exactly the fairytale romance, was it?"  
  
"No,"  
  
"You were about a year old then." Frieza looked thoughtfully at his cigarette. "Around two months after you were born was when I met her, she'd started snorting after father left when you were born. She was in love with him." Frieza gave a forlorn sigh. "Sometimes I think maybe you wouldn't be so screwed up if I hadn't given her the smack. Your mom was a decent woman before she got all strung out. I think you would have liked her."  
  
Vegeta's gut clenched at that thought. If only, if only, his life was made up of 'if only's.  
  
He did not expect his stepfather to continue, but he did.  
  
"When she realized what she'd done to you **that** night, I think that it drove her off the deep end. That's when she really started binging." Frieza shook his head. "I was sober, for once, when she died. I'd never really seen it up close before. I'd seen people overdose and the ambulance arrived and carted them off, and that was that. She was just laying there. by the time the ambulance came it was too late." He shrugged. "They were going to take you off to your father's but he didn't want you, and I felt guilty---" He broke off into a series of coughs as he extinguished the butt of his cigarette.  
  
"I miss her sometimes," Vegeta said quietly, feeling guilty because he really didn't think he meant it.  
  
"Yeah, she was a lot of fun." Frieza pulled out a packet of coke, and Vegeta headed into his room, with new thoughts to ponder. 


	9. Not All Acquaintance Be Forgot

I've got a job! Wahoo! It's PT, and I get out around 8pm, meaning I WILL still have time to write and update this fic.  
  
Thanks to Samantha, who pointed me into the direction of some nifty Goth music.  
  
Chapter Nine: Not Acquaintance Be Forgot  
  
"You must be Goku." The short woman with bobbed honey-brown hair said, standing up and holding her hand.  
  
He took it firmly, trying his best to smile, and knew he was failing at it. His lips were itching to curl into a sneer. He wasn't the one in need of counseling. It was his father that needed psychotherapy. He flopped onto the couch, and let out a sigh.  
  
"My name's Claudia, and I can tell already you don't want to be here." She said with some amusement as she took her place in a wooden chair.  
  
"My dad's the one who needs help, not me." He snorted.  
  
"Perhaps he does, why do you think he needs help?" She asked immediately. He knew she was trying to get him to talk to her, and that this whole discussion would eventually turn back on him, but he didn't care. He wasn't crazy, or depressed, or traumatized, and she would find nothing against him.  
  
"He won't deal with it. He never comes home; he wasn't even home on Christmas Eve. Me and my Uncle Toma ended up going out to eat instead of bothering with cooking. He's always at work." A tightness that he didn't know existed loosened in his chest, and he continued. "He does it to avoid thinking about them. They're dead, it's sad, but I've moved on! Why can't he?" He snapped at no one.  
  
"Your angry with him, that's understandable." Claudia said placidly. "Some people deal with their grief in different ways than others, and your brother and mother's deaths were rather recent."  
  
"Yeah." he sighed. He didn't like thinking about the deaths that seemed some days like only the day before.  
  
"Why don't you tell me about your mother and brother?" She suggested, sitting back in her chair in a relaxed pose.  
  
He took a deep breath, and stared at the carpet. There was so much to tell about them. How his mom always wore perfume that smelled like magnolias. or how Radditz would always leave his dirty boxers on the knob of the bathroom door after he was finished showering. The way his mother would toss her hair over her shoulder if she was angry. The time when Radditz had took the blame for flushing marbles down the toilet, because he'd been so afraid of what Dad was going to do when he got home and found out.  
  
"How about you tell me what you used to do for Christmas? That seems like a good place to start."  
  
He smiled briefly at that.  
  
"Mom would start decorating the house the day before Christmas. She would always do it last minute, along with the cooking. She always swore that next year she'd prepare better, but we never did. I think she liked the frantic pace of it all. She'd always wear this funny apron that Radditz had made when he was in Kindergarten. It had this cheesy felt Christmas tree that he'd splattered fabric paint all over. It was ugly as hell, but that was part of the tradition. We'd hang all the Christmas cards that we'd made through our school years on the mantle of the fireplace. Radditz would always shake his presents trying to find out what was inside ----"  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He sat on the edge of his bed, contemplating whether or not he should go into the other room and ask his stepfather for some more marijuana. It had taken away the nightmares last night, and a good night's sleep that had been so rare over the last few months felt like bliss.  
  
However, Orange Star had a random drug test policy, especially for the kids on scholarships. He got the feeling that they really couldn't give a shit either way what he did, but if he failed, if he proved himself incapable of handling their 'superior' schooling, they'd gladly cast him out. He didn't give them any money; he was a free ride excepting his textbooks. He was only there because the government demanded that some of the lower classes get an opportunity at better schooling. Forced integration or whatever. It gave Orange Star federal benefits, and that's all they really cared about.  
  
If they tested him they'd find that he'd been smoking pot. it wouldn't be out of his body for at least three months. If they tested him they'd know. and he'd fail. He'd be trapped in this shit hole, because no college would want a stoner.  
  
His breath became tight in his chest and he felt himself nearing a panic attack. He stood and grabbed his wallet off the dresser, looking for his razor blade. He needed to vent some of his frustration, and that would make the bad feeling go away, or at least lessen.  
  
How could he have been so stupid, he thought as he slashed a diagonal cut on his upper arm. He'd been so **desperate**, so **needy** for relief, he was willing to make the same mistakes that everyone in his damn family had. Look at how fucked up they were, he reminded himself. The most his stepfather had to look forward to was either being arrested by the cops, over-dosing, or being shot by a rival. There were no retirement homes for drug dealers. His fucked up bitch of a mother had died of a smack overdose, mixed with aspirin and cheap vodka in a pool of her own urine.  
  
He was not going to allow himself, the thought as he made another, deeper gash in his arm, to go down their route. He could, and would, survive this. There were only a few months more, and then he could go off to college and pretend everything had been a bad dream.  
  
He could make it through this, if he kept his cool, gave the school no reason to be suspicious, and didn't smoke anymore weed. He could do this. He'd take sleeping pills to stop the dreams, and then he was sure he could survive.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Bulma entered the office of Mr. Jameson, her agent. He was a grave older man who had been 'in the business' for years. He was dead boring, in Bulma's opinion. He always spoke in a monotone, and had a tendency to pick at his ears while he spoke.  
  
She took the seat he gestured to, sinking into its plush leather with relief. She'd tried working out with Yamucha yesterday, and now she was paying for it. She shouldn't have tried to lift so many weights.  
  
"Hello, Bulma," He said flatly, although he was smiling. "I called you here to talk about your weight."  
  
She cocked an eyebrow at this. She was a size six! What could possibly be wrong with her weight?  
  
"According to my sources, the next seasons fashions are going to be made for the more 'svelte' market. I'm afraid if you want to continue in this business, then I'm going to have to ask you to drop about twenty pounds."  
  
She blinked dumbly.  
  
"I'm a size six." She said harshly, frowning sharply afterwards.  
  
"Yes, yes, I realize that," He said in a mocking placating tone, "But the designers are hunting for models in the size zero to four range. I'm only looking out for your interests in this chosen field."  
  
"Not all of them can be going to 'svelte'," She put heavy irony on the word, "designs."  
  
"No, not all." Jameson shook his eyes and put a finger in his ear. She cringed at the golden-brown glob that was stuck to his finger when he pulled it out. "But if you wish to move up in the world of modeling, you need to do it now, by twenty you'll be almost too old to make a break."  
  
"There's plenty of models in their twenties."  
  
"I just want you to succeed, Bulma." Jameson spread his hands in a helpless gesture.  
  
Her eyes narrowed.  
  
"Well then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to release me from my contract."  
  
He looked surprised at this.  
  
"I'm not just any 'dumb model' that'll listen to anything you say and run out and do it." She scowled. "I am Bulma Briefs, heiress to the Capsule Corporation's billions of dollars. If you won't act as my agent, then I'll find someone else that will. And if you don't release me from my contract, I'll sue you until you've got nothing but a soggy cardboard box."  
  
"If that's the way you feel, Miss Briefs." He sighed, reaching over into his file cabinet and pulling out her folder. He handed her her resumes, before tearing her contract in half.  
  
"Good day, Mr. Jameson." She said snidely, before heading out the door.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
For all her confidence earlier in Mr. Jameson's office, it soon gave way to doubts. Modeling was something she enjoyed because it was unrelated to everything else in their family. No one cared if she was Dr. Briefs' daughter. She'd love to do it for a lifetime, even if she could.  
  
Perhaps she was getting too fat. A size six was not something to boast in this day and age. It was average, and to be a model you had to be more than average. Perhaps she should loose some weight. just a few pounds.  
  
"Do you think I'm fat, Yamucha?" She asked over the phone, whilst lying on her bed.  
  
There was a moment of silence on the other end, as Yamucha tried to cope with the most fearsome question ever posed to a man in the known universe. She may have as well have said, "Which testicle do you want to keep: the right or the left?" for all the difference it made.  
  
"Uhmm. I think you're fine how you are." He replied immediately.  
  
Bulma frowned.  
  
"I should loose some weight, shouldn't I?"  
  
"No!" Yamucha replied immediately, slightly panicked. He could practically feel the fight coming on.  
  
"My agent, well ex-agent, said I should loose some weight, if I wanted to continue to be a model."  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I told him to go fuck himself, only in nicer terms."  
  
He chuckled, that sounded like Bulma all right.  
  
"I'll bet you went into that whole "I am heiress to the Capsule Corporation fortune" spiel too." He snorted.  
  
"Yeah," she gave a soft laugh. "I get psyched up sometimes, you know."  
  
"Oh, I know."  
  
"So you don't think I should try to lose some weight."  
  
"Were you satisfied about how you looked up until now?"  
  
"Yes." She replied instantly.  
  
"Then don't loose the weight. Besides, the love handles give me a nice grip." He added with a teasing tone.  
  
"Fuck you, Yamucha." She said with a roll of her eyes.  
  
"Will you really?" He asked eagerly.  
  
"We'll see this weekend." She said with a shrug in her voice. "Love you."  
  
"Love you, too."  
  
"EEWWWW!!!!" Someone screamed.  
  
"Yolanda! Get off the phone now!" Yamucha screamed, and Bulma laughed.  
  
"See you later, Yamucha." She said, while Yamucha was busy chastising his sister for spying on him, before hanging up.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He was nearly broke now, from purchasing various items he never used from this stupid store. It was worth it, however, to catch sight of Juuhachi.  
  
Entering the store today, however, he saw some guy talking to her. He felt a surge of jealousy, before he realized he recognized the man. It was Vegeta, who was no threat at all.  
  
He watch them talk for a while, and realized that they must be good friends. Vegeta's stance was relaxed, for once, as he leaned sideways against the counter. Juuhachi was leaning forward, bracing herself with her forearms. The biggest tip off was that Vegeta actually smiled. not a sneer, not a smirk, but an honest to God smile.  
  
A plan quickly formulated in his mind. If he could convince Vegeta to introduce the two of them.  
  
Like that was likely.. But it was worth a try.  
  
Vegeta exited when the floor manager re-entered the room, and Krillen quickly followed him. After much running through the clumps of people who all decided to stand right where he was walking, he caught up with Vegeta in the elevator.  
  
"Hey, Vegeta." He said a moment after the door closed, and Vegeta did not look likely to respond to his prescence.  
  
"Hello." He drawled, cocking an eyebrow and looking down at him. Krillen was only a few inches shorter than Vegeta, which wasn't saying much.  
  
"So you know that Juuhachi girl, over to the Verbatim store I see."  
  
"We're neighbors, in a sense." Vegeta replied, looking back up at the door.  
  
"I was wondering ---" he blushed. "I was wondering if you could introduce me to her sometime?"  
  
He found himself under Vegeta's black-eyed scrutiny, something that he found unnerving at the best of times, and with his added nervousness was practically petrifying. Vegeta smirked, which was neither a good nor a bad sign. Vegeta smirked at everything it seemed.  
  
"What do I get out of this?"  
  
"I'll --- I'll --- I don't know, what do you want?"  
  
Vegeta thought about it for a moment, and realized that really wasn't anything that Krillen **could** give him.  
  
"Five bucks."  
  
"Done." ***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
She would need another hit soon, she'd just taken her last one, and it had used up all of her cash. She'd already hocked anything of value that she could get away with, and so had, in her dimming haze, headed over to Vegeta's.  
  
He wasn't home though, she discovered, just as she began to get the shakes again. She was desperate now. and she'd do anything for another hit. Why had she gotten herself into this mess?  
  
She had been sitting in front of the door for who knows how long, when she heard footsteps coming in her direction. She leaned over shakily and saw Vegeta coming down the hall. She smiled, and stood up, smoothing out her clothes. Perhaps she could barter something else. After all, underneath all that Goth apparel was a pretty hot guy.  
  
"Hey, Vegeta?" She smiled prettily at him.  
  
"Hey," He mumbled, digging in his pocket for the keys to the apartment distractedly. Chichi had started hanging out at the apartment more often recently, and Vegeta wasn't under the impression that she was doing it for his company.  
  
He was about to stick the key in the lock, when Chichi stepped in front of him. He suddenly found her moist lips on his, which shocked him. He tried to pull back, but she had a grip on his hips. He quickly realized that her hands were already down his pants.  
  
He shoved her back forcefully into the door, and slapped her hard across the cheek; only to feel immediately sickened with himself afterwards. How many times had he seen his own stepfather do that to his mother? He had sworn that he wouldn't---  
  
He shook the thoughts from his mind as he realized that Chichi's snuffling would soon turn into full-blown wails, attracting the wrong sort of attention. He shoved the key in the lock and quickly opened the door, pulling Chichi inside with him.  
  
"I'm sorry," he muttered like a mantra, as he pushed her in the bathroom.  
  
"I wish I'd never started this!" Chichi shrieked as he herded her into the shower stall. If she was going to be sick, which she undoubtedly was, then he wanted to be able to clean it up as easily as possible.  
  
He let her rant and wail against herself and the world for a while, making sure she wouldn't do anything to harm herself. He didn't feel like explaining **that** ambulance call to her Uncle.  
  
After what seemed like ages to his throbbing ears she exhausted herself, and she slouched back against the tiled wall.  
  
"M'sorry Begeta.." She mumbled.  
  
"You need to go to a clinic. They can help you there."  
  
"But then everyone will know," Chichi moaned. "I can't let anyone know. no one's supposed to know." She glared at the floor. "I can quit myself."  
  
"You need to go to a doctor. They're the only ones who can help you."  
  
"I can do it on my own." She said mulishly, closing her eyes and pulling her knees up to her chest.  
  
Vegeta sighed, knowing from experience that it was pointless to argue. 


	10. In the Heat of the Night

Did you know it's nice to get a $7.60 tip for your first day on the job? Because it is. It really is. Now to further my attempts to look like homicidal-maniac alien with over-inflated ego issues with my new found cash.  
  
Uhm. don't kill me? This story is far from over. and things MAY change. Hang on. Also, whoever is the first to guess what Anime theme I stole the translated lyrics from for Piccolo to sing gets to ask me ONE question, via private email, that I will answer. So remember to leave emails, and I'll be contacting you Monday.  
  
Chapter Ten: In the Heat of the Night  
  
He lay quiet in the bed long after the other had fallen into the arms of Morpheus. It had been an 'eventful' night to be subtle about it. Parts of it were strange and uncomfortable, and a large portion of it he was still sorting through mentally.  
  
The discomfort that he had felt the last time he'd tried to get 'laid' as Juunana so crudely put it, was significantly less this time. The feeling of a slightly sticky warm, breathing body tore his flesh in two, metaphorically, from the urge to crawl from the unfamiliar texture, and to lean into it.  
  
How ironic that things should end like this, when he wasn't even trying. He had intended merely to flirt a bit, and had found himself in the other's bed. Not that he was complaining, although he supposed it did make him a bit easy if they'd started shagging on the first unofficial date. However, the only ones who would see him as 'easy' would also be the ones who'd hate him for being gay, so their opinion didn't matter much at all.  
  
He leaned in closer to Piccolo's warm body, tensing slightly as he felt arms slide around him, and tried to remember where it had all begun.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He banged on his locker three times before turning the dial and opening it with a sigh. He'd just gotten out of his mandatory Government class, which was dreadfully boring. Anyone with a brain in their head and who had been paying attention to the news for at least three months would have figured out how the government worked. It wasn't nearly as complicated as the textbook told you it was, in Vegeta's opinion.  
  
Government, in Vegeta's opinion, was run by a series of 'I scratch your back, you scratch mine,' by a lot of guys with huge egos. There was also bribery of 'representatives' by the medical, and 'vice' institutions as Vegeta called them. The pornography industry was the major felon in this. There was no way, in Vegeta's mind, that they couldn't be involved in the government.  
  
He shoved his trigonometry and calculus books into his bag. He'd decided to double up on the courses, even though hours in front of the calculator was not his idea of fun. It looked good on the college resumes however, and that was all that was important.  
  
"Hey." Someone said behind him in a friendly tone. It froze Vegeta for a second, because it was so unusual for someone to speak to him without insulting him.  
  
He turned and saw Krillen, and remembered yesterday.  
  
"You got bus fare?" He grunted in lieu of a greeting.  
  
"I thought we'd take my car," Krillen suggested.  
  
"Whatever."  
  
They headed out to the school parking lot, where Krillen unlocked his new car. He'd saved up over the summer to make the down payment with his job working at the fish market, and with his current job at his parent's restaurant, he'd probably have it paid off in five long long years. Still, it was a really nice ride.  
  
It was a half-hour ride to mall, due to a wreck on the main route. Some people just didn't know how to drive safely, Krillen thought, as he drove at the swift pace of seventy miles per hour in the fifty-five zone with thin ice on the road.  
  
"So, Government's pretty boring isn't it?" Krillen asked, searching for something to break the silence of the last five minutes. He and Vegeta shared Government as their last class of the day.  
  
"That textbooks full of shit." Vegeta said, not removing his gaze from the window filled with passing cars. "That's not the how the government runs at all. It's all secretly run by the porn industry."  
  
Krillen blinked at that, it certainly was an unusual statement.  
  
"How do you figure that?"  
  
"Easy, why is it illegal to be or hire a prostitute, yet you can go into most any store and buy a porno video or a skin magazine? You get the same result. These people are being paid to have sex, which is technically illegal since you can't **hire** anyone to **have** sex because that would be prostitution."  
  
"Well, I suppose it's safer to be a porn star than a hooker. They're always talking about how they get cut up and stuff. Get killed on the job, you know."  
  
"Happens in the porno industry too, they don't talk about that though." Vegeta's eyes narrowed. "It's a simple economics question. If you have all those prostitutes out there who can give 'the real thing', why settle for your own hand?"  
  
Krillen considered this, and could come up with no rebuttal.  
  
"You live in a fucked up world, Vegeta." He said finally.  
  
"Just remember you live here too." Vegeta shrugged. There was more silence, until the radio, turned down low, played that familiar roll of piano keys. He immediately jerked down and turned up the dial, just in time to hear sweet Gloria's voice.  
  
At first I was afraid, I was petrified, Afraid I couldn't live without you by my side. But then I spent so many nights, Thinkin' on how you did me wrong, And I grew strong, And I learned to get along..  
  
He began to sing, rather badly, along, not caring about his unwilling audience. He'd always been hypnotized by the song since he was a child.  
  
And so you're back,  
  
From outer space,  
  
A second voice joined in with him, thankfully just as bad, and he had to look over just to confirm that it was, in fact, Vegeta. To make sure that coldly reserved Vegeta was actually **singing** and bobbing his head to "I Will Survive".  
  
I just walked into find you here with that sad look upon your face, I should have changed that stupid lock, (Vegeta changed this to "fuckin' lock" in a fit of artistic inspiration.) I should have made you give your key, If I'd have known for just one second that you'd come back to bother me. Oh, boy, now go! Walk out the door! Just turn around now, You're not welcome any more.  
  
By this time the duo had progressed into quasi-dance moves. They were 'quasi' only because they were sitting buckled in the their seats. Given the space, undoubtedly there would have been a fully orchestrated stage show.  
  
By the end of the song, the case had developed into full blown 'I-can't- help-but-sing-along-because-it's-my-favorite-song-itis' that had the other drivers on the road staring with shock and fear.  
  
When the final notes died off and an advertisement for a pizza place with a heavy rock music background blasted on, the two boys stared at each other with embarrassment.  
  
"This never happened." Vegeta snapped.  
  
"Of course." Krillen agreed.  
  
They drove in silence for the last ten minutes of the ride to the mall, and Krillen contemplated the boy beside him. He was not as much as an asshole that Krillen had thought him to be. He had good taste in music, for one. He was funny too, in his own, offbeat dark kind of way. Perhaps, he'd judged him wrong.  
  
As they parked Vegeta informed him of the plan. He, Krillen, was supposed to enter the store a few moments after Vegeta. Vegeta would stick his hand in his back pocket as a signal to prepare himself. Vegeta would then bring Juuhachi over, and introduce the two of them.  
  
It sounded simple enough.  
  
He entered the store exactly as planned, and nervously headed over to the clearance rack that he'd scanned a thousand times already, and awaited Vegeta's signal.  
  
Vegeta headed over to Juuhachi, who was behind the counter.  
  
"Hey." She said as she shoved some sacks onto a shelf. "How's it going?"  
  
"Okay." He grinned. "I've got a date tonight."  
  
Juuhachi smirked broadly. "I knew it! One day you'd finally stop moping. where are the two of you going?"  
  
"It's not an 'official' date, he's playing at Club Roxie tonight, and asked me if I wanted to come."  
  
"Lucky bitch, getting a musician. What's his name?"  
  
"Piccolo Daimou, he just moved in next door to me."  
  
"My little man's all grown up. Juunana would be so proud if he could see you now." Juuhachi sniffed dramatically, and pinched Vegeta's cheek. Vegeta rolled his eyes.  
  
"However, my love life was not why I brought you here. Now let go of my cheek."  
  
"What then?" Juuhachi asked, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
"You see that short guy over to the clearance rack." Vegeta said as he slid his hand into his back pocket.  
  
"Yeah, Mr. Stalkie the Short, Stalkie for short" Vegeta laughed. "What about him?"  
  
"His name's Krillen, and he's a classmate of mine. He's smitten with you." Juuhachi gave him a look that said 'No, really?'. "He paid me five bucks to introduce you two."  
  
"What are you, my pimp?"  
  
"No, the politically correct term is 'talent manager'." Vegeta snorted. "Look, he's an okay guy, just walk over and say 'Hi'. If you don't like him, tell him to piss off."  
  
"Fine, but only because I pity him for being so awed by my beauty." Juuhachi shook her head and headed over to the clearance rack.  
  
"Vegeta tells me your name's Krillen." Juuhachi said, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow. "I'm Juuhachi."  
  
"I-it's nice to meet you, Juuhachi." Krillen laughed nervously. "Wow. uhm.. What time does your shift end? Maybe I could take you out for a soda? Maybe, if you drink soda that is. I mean ---"  
  
"I get off work at seven-thirty,"  
  
"I just made a complete ass of myself, didn't I?" Krillen asked.  
  
"Yes, yes you did."  
  
"Thanks, just making sure I met my stupidity quota for the day."  
  
Juuhachi smiled slightly at that.  
  
"I see you at seven-thirty then?" Krillen asked hopefully.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Krillen grinned broadly.  
  
"Well, it was sure nice to meet you, Juuhachi." Krillen stuck out a hand.  
  
"Nice to meet you too, Krillen." She said, taking his hand. She was surprised when he turned it, and kissed her knuckles. He flushed deeply and scampered out of the store.  
  
"He is the freakiest midget I've ever seen," Juuhachi said as Vegeta came to stand beside her. She smirked. "He's a cute freak though."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He dug about the room, looking for **something** to wear. Nothing seemed right, however.  
  
There was a knock at the door, and Vegeta gave a short growl of frustration as he stomped out to get it.  
  
He was surprised to see Juunana standing there, holding up one of their latest creations. It had been originally made for Juunana, but the legs seemed to have been shortened.  
  
"Juuhachi called and said that there was a fashion emergency, and demanded I hem up my pants for you." Juunana said.  
  
"I've got a date tonight." Vegeta replied.  
  
Juunana smirked. "Finally. The sacrifice of my pants was worth it then. Let's get you inside." He said as he entered and herded Vegeta back into the bedroom.  
  
It was fortunate that both Juunana had a near similar waist size. The tight black pleather pants with navy blue stripes down the sides clung tightly to him as it was. He slid the black fishnet shirt on, adjusting the long blue straps that connected the shoulder to the opposite wrist.  
  
"Tres Magnifique." Juunana smirked. "Now let's get you some make up."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
The Roxie was an interesting place. Hundreds of men had shown up that, some in drag, others in plainclothes, and were currently dancing to the rock cover songs.  
  
Vegeta was having fun too, flirting playfully with his eyes and body to the lead singer, who's eyes now avoided the left part of the stage for fear of going flat again. He'd had offers from several men beside him, which he turned down by saying "I'm with the band,". He was surprised when they took his 'no' for an answer and did not look upset by it.  
  
"We'd like to thank everyone for coming tonight. You all have nice night," Vegeta checked his watched, and was amazed to find that it was almost eleven o'clock.  
  
The last song they played had more instrumentals than heavy guitar, as the trumpet blared from the back. Piccolo had placed his guitar on his stand, and stood alone before the microphone.  
  
"Like an angel that has no sense of mercy, Rise young boy to the heavens like a legend."  
  
The music was more lyrical than the rest of the songs had been earlier. Vegeta stood still as he felt the sound of the powerful baritone melt over him.  
  
"Cold winds as blue as the sea, Tear open the door to your heart, I see But unknowing you seem, just staring at me... Standing there smiling serenely."  
  
Piccolo looked over to him and winked.  
  
"Desperate, for something to touch... A moment of kindness like that in a dream. Your innocent eyes, have yet no idea... Of the path your destiny will follow."  
  
The music slowed here, and Vegeta found himself swaying with it. This was not music you danced to; this was music you merely enjoyed being in the prescence of.  
  
"But someday you'll become aware of... Everything that you've got behind you. Your wings are for seeking out a new Future that only you can search for."  
  
The tempo increased as Vegeta felt his eyelids slide shut as he entered trance-like state.  
  
"The cruel angel's thesis enters  
  
Through the window of your soul. If you should betray the chapel of your memories. The cruel angel's thesis bleeds."  
  
The chorus repeated several times, although Vegeta wouldn't have known it. His thoughts were lost as he felt something within him harmonize with the lyrics. It was strange to say the least; and he was disappointed when the song ended.  
  
Piccolo jumped off the stage to join Vegeta, whom he escorted to the private rooms in the back.  
  
They sat in those back room tables for hours, although it seemed like less, talking about everything from art (Piccolo was a firm Modern Minimalist, while Vegeta preferred the Impressionistic), to music, to politics, to nothing at all.  
  
By two o'clock, when the owner informed them that they were starting to close up, Vegeta and Piccolo had moved from the table to the couch, where Piccolo's hand had strayed to Vegeta's hip, where Vegeta left it.  
  
Buzzed on high caffeine colas, they decided to head back home, acknowledging the late hour.  
  
"How did you know I was gay?" Vegeta asked as they entered the car.  
  
"Mrs. Johnson, my next door neighbor," Vegeta remembered the wizened nosy old woman. "I was wearing one of my pride t-shirts, and she started talking about how the gays were just wrecking up the neighborhood." Piccolo rolled his eyes as he started up the old Volkswagen Rabbit. "I took a shot in the dark and guessed it was you."  
  
"Lucky shot." Vegeta smirked.  
  
The ride ended too soon for Vegeta's taste, as they parked underneath the tall shadow of their apartment building.  
  
They shared covert glances at each other, but otherwise silence prevailed as they headed up to their floor.  
  
"Well, I guess this is goodnight." Vegeta said as they faced Piccolo's apartment.  
  
"Yeah." Piccolo sighed and looked with irritation at the door he had arrived at too quickly.  
  
Vegeta stood on his tiptoes and gave Piccolo a goodnight kiss. Piccolo's arms found their way to his waist. After several moments, the couple broke apart.  
  
"Oh, damn." Vegeta said playfully. "I forgot my keys, I **guess** I'll have to wait in the hall until my stepfather comes home." He said, lying through his teeth. Piccolo knew it too, it seemed, judging from his smirk.  
  
"Well, we can't have you just sitting in the hall all alone, now could we?"  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
They had sat on the couch for a while, watching old Cheers re-runs, until they gradually found something far more entertaining off-the-screen. Things had degenerated quickly, and it was fortunate that the bedroom was so close.  
  
Physically sated, but exhausted, Vegeta fell asleep in the arms of his new lover.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
AN2: I hate putting this here, but I might be tempted to write a more detailed description of our newest couple's first night. Whether there'll be true lemon is undetermined. Tell me what you think. 


	11. Afterglow

Congrats to Polly and Mitsu Yoru, who were the first to answer on FF.net and Media Miner. Thanks also to all those who have reviewed (now or in the past), even if you weren't offered a prize. Indeed, Piccolo's song was from Neon Genesis Evangelion, or EVA.  
  
Watch Donnie Darko. Now.  
  
This is shorter than I'd like it to be, but I can't really do anything about it. I figure writing those longer chapters earlier might have something to do with it. Oh well. next chapter looks promising.  
  
Chapter Eleven: Afterglow  
  
He smiled as warm hands slid down to his hips. He leaned back into the owner of the hands, enjoying the warm texture of the flesh that had made him so hesitant before.  
  
"Mnh. I've got to go home sometime you know." He mumbled into the blanket. "My step dad's going to be worried about me."  
  
"Five more minutes." Piccolo said into the flesh of his shoulder. "You're so skinny." He said quietly, moving to rest his chin on his shoulder.  
  
"You weren't complaining last night," Vegeta yawned as he sat up, dislodging Piccolo. He looked over his shoulder coyly, as he ran his fingers through his sweaty hair.  
  
Piccolo's arms cinched around his waist as he moved to stand, and yanked him back down onto the bed. He let out a small laugh as he fell back onto his lover.  
  
"Really though, I've got to go home today. if only for some clean clothes."  
  
"I suppose I can live without you for a little while."  
  
Vegeta slid out of Piccolo's grasp and headed towards the small bathroom to wash up. He definitely didn't want to go home reeking of sweat.  
  
"Can I join you?"  
  
"That would defeat the point," Vegeta said, smirking over his shoulder, before shutting the bathroom door.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
She grabbed another Kleenex as she made her way down the stairs. Her nose seemed to be constantly running these days. She blew hard, trying to rid herself of the annoying drainage, and came to a full stop when she felt something give within her nose. Pulling away the tissue she saw it was speckled with blood and chunks of a fleshy substance. Her nose ached.  
  
She'd just sneezed out some of the cartilage in her nose..  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He returned home wearing what he had left in, although noticeably looser after having it roughly tugged off his body. Juunana was going to be pissed. of course the pants already had been hemmed up for him, so he supposed it didn't matter.  
  
He slid the key home, turned the lock, and entered his apartment. The TV was running, but at tolerable level, which surprised him.  
  
Frieza turned and looked at him over his shoulder from his position on the couch. He cocked an eyebrow in askance for his absence.  
  
"I crashed over at Piccolo's house." Vegeta said, tensing slightly out of habit.  
  
"You **did** use a condom, right?"  
  
Vegeta blinked, blushed and nodded. He had thought --- he stopped the thought immediately, not wishing to curse his luck.  
  
"Good, wouldn't want to get a disease or anything."  
  
"I'm going to go hang out at Piccolo's apartment --- if that's okay with you."  
  
"Yeah, go ahead."  
  
He made towards his room, eager to get out of his sticky clothes and into something more comfortable.  
  
"Don't go in there." His father snapped, and he turned immediately to face him. His father's eyes and body were tense, and almost fearful. "One of the higher ups decided crash here last night, so I let him use your room."  
  
"Oh." He knew he should feel apprehensive that a complete stranger was in his room, and angry that his stepfather should use his room like a motel, but he also knew that the last thing he ever wanted to do was upset one of his father's higher ups. The inconvenience of being unable to enter his room was not worth noting in this scenario.  
  
"This must be your stepson," a deep voice said from behind him, and he turned quickly to the bathroom door.  
  
There stood a large muscular man, smirking down upon him. He wore a nice white suit, with a light blue undershirt. His voice had sounded like an odd blend between a southern drawl and upper crust British accent. His skin was taut over his skull, and his eyes appeared soulless as they stared at him.  
  
He nodded dumbly at the man, whose dark red bowed lips quirked at his mute response. His dark eyes examined him in a way that made his skin crawl as if he'd been immersed in an ice bath. This man made him nervous, and he averted his eyes quickly to the floor.  
  
"You must want to change out of your clothes, go right ahead." The man said in a lilting voice.  
  
"Thank you," He said quickly, ducking into his room and shutting the door. He wanted to lock it, but that might put the man in a bad temper, and this would not be a good thing.  
  
He quickly grabbed a pair of pants and a t-shirt and pulled them on, before exiting the room.  
  
The man was gone by the short time he had returned to the main room, to his relief.  
  
"Who was that?" He asked his stepfather quietly.  
  
"Kold. He's the man I get everything from. He got in a little bit of trouble, and decided to crash over here for a while." His stepfather sent him a look, and he nodded.  
  
He entered his room, grabbed his schoolbooks and shoved some clothes in a plastic sack. Even his stepfather had caught on to the vibes that Vegeta was receiving from Kold, and here was the last place he wanted to be. Piccolo would understand. he'd probably be thrilled, although this was probably moving too fast. If it was, then he could move in with Juuhachi and Juunana.  
  
He left the house, bidding his stepfather a quick goodbye, and knocked on Piccolo's door.  
  
"We've got company," He said apologetically, motioning to his sacks. "They need my room, do you mind if I ---"  
  
Piccolo smirked.  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
He smiled back and entered his temporary new home.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Juuhachi scrubbed at her t-shirt, angrily trying to remove the ketchup from the white shirt. She'd left the shirt to soak last night, and while it had removed some of the stain, there was still a darkened spot on her shirt.  
  
Scowling, she tossed the shirt into the tub. She couldn't use bleach on the stain, it'd wreck the pattern on it. She'd just have to make it into something else.  
  
She sighed and joined her brother who was watching some cartoon on the television. She groaned as she recognized the show.  
  
"Not Vampire Piggy Hunter C AGAIN." She moaned, smacking her head on the back of the couch.  
  
"Chut up." Juunana mumbled.  
  
"Can't you find another anime to obsess on?"  
  
"No."  
  
Juuhachi sighed and banged her head on the edge of the couch.  
  
"So how did your date go? I couldn't make out the growls last time I asked."  
  
"We went to the Hot Dog Hut, he spilled ketchup on me. The next half-hour was filled with his attempt at conversation, which were severely hampered by his drooling." Juuhachi said icily, glaring at Juunana as he snickered.  
  
It was fortunate for Juunana that the doorbell rang, because Juuhachi felt the urge to smack her brother for laughing at her.  
  
She opened the door to reveal Vegeta. who was smiling broader than she'd thought humanly possible for those not supermodels.  
  
"Jesus Christ you're actually fucking smiling!" Juunana exclaimed, jumping over the couch.  
  
Vegeta scowled, but was unable to stop the smile from resurfacing.  
  
"I'm getting my camera," Juunana muttered, running into his bedroom.  
  
Juuhachi rolled her eyes.  
  
"So, you have a nice night?"  
  
Vegeta flashed her that idiotic lovesick smile, and he didn't need to verbally reply.  
  
"And you?"  
  
"I've blanked the events from my mind." She replied. "So where is your beau?"  
  
"He had rehearsal, I told him to come here so he could meet you two."  
  
"So you **did** it last night?"  
  
Vegeta nodded.  
  
"Good for you."  
  
"You act as if virginity is some great burden." Vegeta snorted. "Yet it is so easily lost."  
  
"Mmmh. obviously."  
  
He slapped her playfully on the shoulder.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Stay as you are!" Juunana shouted before the bulb of his camera flashed.  
  
"Honestly, Juunana, its not as if I haven't **smiled** before." Vegeta drawled.  
  
"Yes, but now you're wearing the 'after-first-time-sex' smile. Its different." Juunana sighed. "But you're not an 'artiste' what would you know?" He said dramatically.  
  
Vegeta flipped him off.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
There was a slam as a living body was thrown into the cool metal of the locker.  
  
"Get out of my way," snapped Jason Brown, a linebacker on the varsity football team, after having shoved David Atkin into his locker.  
  
"I wasn't in your way." David said with a bitter sigh, glaring at the football jersey disappearing into the crowd.  
  
He had discovered in the last six years, that life was not determined by brains, but by popularity. Popularity, for males, was determined by muscle strength. At a pathetic one hundred and twenty pounds, it made him very unpopular.  
  
"Jason's an asshole, ignore him." Someone said behind him, and he turned to look at the speaker.  
  
"No need to tell me." He said gloomily, setting about to re-dialing his code.  
  
"Yeah, but he's just making up for what he lacks in other areas." The guy said cheekily, causing David to smirk.  
  
"Probably."  
  
"I'm Goku Son." The other said, clapping him on the shoulder.  
  
"David Atkin." He replied.  
  
"See you around David." Goku said as he walked away.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"You should tell him."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"They're just words."  
  
"Then you tell him."  
  
"You need to be the one to tell him, its your duty."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Some days I hate him, and some days I think its my fault. Some days I think he got what he deserved. and those days I hate myself."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)*** 


	12. Letters From the Dead

Well, it's been awhile hasn't it? There was schoolwork, college tour, writer's block, and yesterday I had a car accident. No one hurt, thankfully. Anyway, the long awaited for Chapter Twelve! Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Chapter Twelve: Letters From the Dead  
  
There were so many wonderful colors to choose from, she was amazed at how many shades of pink and lavender there were.  
  
Aunt Meimei was taking her shopping for her dress to the Valentine's Ball. She would, naturally, be going with Goku. The ball would also be their one- year anniversary, and Aunt Meimei, who was a deep romantic, insisted on a new dress.  
  
Her eye was caught by a dress such a dark purple it was nearly black. She reached out and brushed the material (velvet). It was silk velvet, instead of cotton or spandex, and it felt divine beneath her fingers. The fabric clung sleekly to the dummy, looking both alluring and formal without being tacky or boring.  
  
"That's beautiful Chichi," her Aunt cooed, flicking her nimble fingers through the rack, looking for a different size.  
  
"Here's a size nine." She said holding it up to her. Chichi watched as shock came over her aunt's face. To save her aunt the embarrassment she found a dress that was in a size four, and headed off to the dressing room.  
  
So, she had finally noticed. Part of her cynically wondered what had taken her so long. One would think that her aunt would have noticed the fact that she'd become half her previous size over the year.  
  
It seemed everyone but her family had noticed. From her dad it was no surprise, she loved him, but she was first to admit that he wasn't that keen of an observer. In his eyes she was still four years old and chubby.  
  
She stepped into the dress, feeling confidence flow through her as it hung just right on her slender frame. She was beautiful in it. She shivered, and made quickly for her faux chapstick. She popped the back end off and took a hard huff.  
  
She needed more and more just to achieve a state 'normalcy'. she didn't have enough money to get high off coke anymore. It was wearing off faster, she knew she was headed for trouble, but if she could just last until graduation everything would be okay. She could quit in the summer and be clean for college.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He felt the familiar tingle go through him as Piccolo's hands came from behind to settle on his hips. Out of habit his head tilted to one side, and the warm moist lips of his lover settle on his collarbone. He moaned appreciatively and leaned back.  
  
"Mnh. I'm hungry, let's go get something to eat." Piccolo mumbled against his jawbone.  
  
"Eugh. you're always hungry. I'm getting fat ." Vegeta half protested.  
  
Piccolo's hands came around to pinch his stomach gently, and he chuckled.  
  
"Yesssss.. You're about ready for the pot."  
  
"That's sick." He snorted.  
  
"You look fine, so fine in fact that if we don't leave this instant to that nice little Thai place down the street I will be forced to commit acts of cannibalism."  
  
"Fine, but I do this under duress," He smiled and grabbed his new coat, a leather jacket courtesy of Piccolo. He'd carefully painted on an ouroboros, a snake eating its tail, on the back in a kelly green. Piccolo's base guitarist Nail had liked it so much that he'd offered up his own leather jacket for detailing, with a payment of twenty-five dollars.  
  
He blushed faintly when he felt Piccolo grab his ass as he slid on his shoes. It was hard getting used to public displays of affection, when no one in his 'family' of sorts had ever physically demonstrated anything other than anger for most of his life.  
  
He opened the door, and froze as he saw his stepfather standing there, a bag of garbage in his hand.  
  
"Hi," They said in unison after an uncomfortable moment.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Saiyajinn," Piccolo said cheerfully from behind him. "How is your company?"  
  
"Oh. he left just yesterday," His stepfather replied with an awkward shrug. "I guess you can come back home now, if you want Vegeta." His stepfather mumbled.  
  
"Thanks." Vegeta replied quietly.  
  
"Say, me and Vegeta were just going out to grab a bite to eat, d'you want to come along?" Piccolo said brightly.  
  
Vegeta was conflicted about what his stepfather's response might be. Piccolo was so naïve sometimes. If his stepfather went he might do or say something embarassing, or worse, meet up with one of his 'business associates'. On the complementary hand, his stepfather had been decent to him since Christmas, and Piccolo would raise all sorts of questions if he pressed his stepfather to refuse. Questions he really didn't feel like answering.  
  
"Sure," his stepfather replied weakly. "I'll just get rid of this then, shall I?" He gestured to the garbage bag.  
  
"Great!" Piccolo chirped, and locked the door behind him.  
  
Vegeta prayed to whomever might be listening up there that his father would behave himself.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Goku frowned as he looked at the figure standing on the doorstep. He picked up his pace a little as he arrived in front of his house. No one else was home, it was only five o'clock, Toma was back to his place, taking care of some business, his dad was still at work, and he'd just returned from his appointment with Claudia.  
  
So far they'd talked a little about his anger with Vegeta. He was a faggot, and that was wrong, and she'd made no comment when he'd stated his beliefs so frankly. He could sense that she disagreed, but so far she'd said nothing.  
  
The young man at his door was short and thin. He wore a tight baby blue t- shirt and a pair of khaki pants. His eyes were rimmed red and slightly swollen from what appeared to be crying. Goku's frown of confusion turned to one of concern.  
  
"Can I help you?" He asked as ascended the steps to the door.  
  
"You Goku Son?" The young man, about Radditz's age if Goku were to guess, asked.  
  
"Yeah, who are you?"  
  
"No one." The man said as he shoved a letter from his back pocket into his hand, before quickly walking away from him.  
  
Too confused to call the other man back, he stared at the letter addressed him, in a hauntingly familiar scrawl.  
  
This letter was from Radditz.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Bulma smiled at the pink sequined cocktail dress she'd chosen for the Valentine's Ball, to be ironically held on Friday the 13th. She'd gotten a spiral perm for this very special occasion, and the loose curls draped well on her shoulders.  
  
She was a regular Marilyn Monroe, the stylist, Roger, had exclaimed as he removed the curlers.  
  
She was dead sure that Yamucha would love this dress.  
  
She snatched up her mother's tiara and placed it carefully upon her locks of hair. Now she was stunning, a true princess. This Valentine's dance was going to be perfect.  
  
"Bulma, if we don't want to loose our reservations at the restaurant, we have to leave now!" Yamucha called from the bottom of the stairwell.  
  
"Beauty takes time," she replied as she headed down the steps.  
  
And it did, because judging from Yamucha's swinging jaw; he'd forgive her the forty-five minute wait in her family's den.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
They'd gone to 'The Junk' as he and Piccolo called it, since the actual name was something they couldn't pronounce. The sign outside however was easily identifiable by the fact that it was a model Junk with the name of the restaurant painted on the side.  
  
As they waited for their large platter of the 'variety special' to arrive, Vegeta noticed that his father was beginning to look agitated and vaguely ill. He probably hadn't taken a hit yet, he reasoned quickly.  
  
"You okay, Mr. Saiyajinn?" Piccolo asked with concern.  
  
"Just got a bit of the flu. I'm going to the restroom." His stepfather grumbled as he stood, weaving slightly.  
  
Vegeta watched him go with a wary eye.  
  
"Perhaps you should go with him?" Piccolo suggested after a moment.  
  
"Yeah," He mumbled, standing and striding quickly to the dingy two-stall bathroom. He entered, and relieved to note no one else was the room except for the two of them. His stepfather was smoking some black tar heroin, his eyes already unfocussed.  
  
"How long since your last hit?" He asked quietly, kicking the doorstop in to ensure they wouldn't be walked in on.  
  
"A few hours ago, I've been trying to quit." His stepfather chuckled.  
  
Vegeta bit his lip. If his stepfather was trying to quit, he was doing a poor job of it. He used to be able to go longer without a hit than this.  
  
This was going to kill him.  
  
"You ready?" he asked as his father finished his cigarette.  
  
"Yeah, let me flush this."  
  
His stepfather was dying, and there was nothing he could do.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
As he entered the house he could feel trouble. The lights were off in the living room, and the curtains drawn. Goku should have returned by now from his psychiatrist.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Bardock did not fake ignorance as he sat down on the couch.  
  
"I didn't know how." He said softly, feeling deeply ashamed at his failing.  
  
"When did you know?"  
  
"After the party his senior year. the one you told me about. He told me how he felt --- about boys like Vegeta."  
  
His son seethed silently, glaring at him with hatred.  
  
"That's why he left for Toma's."  
  
"I couldn't deal with it. and it would have broken your mother's heart to know, she was starting to get ill."  
  
"It ended up killing her anyway." Goku said with venom, and he flinched at its sting.  
  
"If I could take back I would, Goku, you've got to understand."  
  
"I don't want to hear it." Goku snapped, standing and throwing on his coat. "You killed them both, I hope you're happy with yourself,"  
  
His son slammed the door on his way out.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
She'd just taken a large hit, more than she should have, likely, but she wanted to ensure that this night was perfect. It wouldn't be flawless if she were nervous.  
  
She ascended the stage, and smiled as the flashes on the cameras went off, even though they hurt like hell on her eyes.  
  
"Just get on there, you can't let her stand there all alone!" Someone hissed, and her head turned to where Goku should be ---  
  
Instead there was Krillen, one of the shortest kids in the school, with the shaved head. He was wearing a white linen suit and a fedora, and it didn't match her at all. Where was Goku in his suit and tails, with his bowtie specially dyed to match her dress? This wasn't supposed to be happening.  
  
Krillen smiled sheepishly, and came to stand beside her. No no nnonononononononono! This was all wrong. Goku was supposed to be here, offering her his well-muscled arm for her to hold in her daintily gloved hand, not this clumsy midget.  
  
Her head started to ache as she forced herself to take his arm and wave at the audience who was cheering loudly. or were they jeering at her, at her humiliation? Probably. they'd exposed her for the bumpkin she was.they'd probably been planning it since last Valentine's dance.  
  
She felt lightheaded, and all the flashbulbs were leaving black spots in her vision. She sat down, and found that once there, she couldn't get back up.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"Excuse me Miss, are you family?"  
  
"No, but I'm the closest thing to it here." Bulma frowned at the paramedic, and planted her other foot firmly on the back of the ambulance. "I'm going with her."  
  
The medic, a middle-aged man with thick wavy black hair looked at her skeptically for a moment, before nodding in ascent and helping her in.  
  
Chichi looked so unreal hooked up to all those machines, with tubes up her nose and in her mouth.  
  
"What's wrong with her?" She demanded.  
  
"I don't know," The paramedic shrugged as he started looking through Chichi's purse. He held up a tube of chapstick and frowned, and turned it upside down. With a gentle tug he removed the bottom of the container, and grimaced. It was all quite strange in Bulma's opinion.  
  
"What is it?" She asked.  
  
"Hurry up Sheryl," The man called to the driver. "We have a cocaine OD."  
  
The sirens began to blare, and Bulma could feel the ambulance pick up speed. She didn't want to believe that Chichi would sink so low. she couldn't imagine perfect Chichi ever being an addict. It wasn't in her personality. How could she have been so wrong?  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
His cell phone chimed and he scowled as he pulled it out of his pocket. if it was his father again he was going to choke the man.  
  
He frowned as he recognized Bulma's own cell phone number. It was then he realized that in his fury that he'd forgotten about the Valentine's ball. He quickly turned the phone on and held it to his ear.  
  
"Bulma? I'm sorry, tell Chichi I'll be there as ---"  
  
"Don't bother showing up at the school, Goku, Chichi's in the hospital." Bulma said in a cold voice, which Goku recognized as her 'I'm in control' voice.  
  
"What?!? Is she all right?"  
  
"I don't know." Bulma's voice betrayed her fear now. "The paramedic mentioned something about cocaine. and I don't know, just get over to West City General okay?"  
  
"I'll be there in a few, I'm headed in that direction as we speak." Goku said quickly, before slamming the off button on his cell phone.  
  
He sat forward in his seat with urgency, and rapped on the glass partition separating him from the cabby.  
  
"Change of plans, I need to go to West City General Hospital, on the double." He said, and tossed a twenty-dollar bill at the driver.  
  
"You got it." 


	13. A Mad World

There is no excuse for the lateness of this. except for writers block, since my writing wanted to focus on anything but this story. But I've got a full-length chapter for you people, and dun dun dun dun! Another CONTEST!  
  
First one who can name the title of the 2001 movie in which the song and the chapter title came from, as well as the original artist, you get a sneak peak into the future of this story through cookies. You'll like, trust me.  
  
Chapter Thirteen: A Mad World  
  
He was living the twilight zone. He had to be. Somehow he'd gone too deep while he was swimming in the pool and ended up in a different world, although this was hardly paradise.  
  
The doctors told him little of what was happening to Chichi. He sat with Chichi's aunt who was sobbing loudly, and her uncle who was doing his level best to try and comfort her. He occasionally to Goku with suspicion, but he had no explanation for why Chichi would do something so stupid.  
  
He re-opened his letter, trying to take his mind off of Chichi's uncertain condition. He bit his lip, and started to read it again:  
  
'Dear Little Bro,  
  
Hopefully Robin has given you this. I don't doubt he will; he was always trustworthy. If you are reading this, then I have killed myself. I'm sorry, although I doubt it makes you feel any better.  
  
You've probably wondered for the last year why, exactly, I committed suicide. I can't believe I have either. I suppose I did it because I was dying anyway. With two choices in my hands, I chose the shorter route of the two. Between drawn out agony, and quick oblivion, I chose suicide over suffering.  
  
There is something I have not told you, or anyone in our family except Toma and our father. I'm gay. I'm a fucking queer. All those times that I told you and everyone I had been out clubbing with my teammates? Partial lies. I was out clubbing, but with a new set of friends, who just so happened to be gay also.  
  
You do crazy things when your eighteen, horny, and feel like you're carrying the biggest secret in the world; and sometimes those mad actions come back to haunt you. It's a bad sign that I don't know who gave me this disease.  
  
Mum told me that you broke off your friendship with Vegeta. She didn't understand, but I think I do. Another thing I must apologize for. That night, Vegeta did not kiss me. I kissed him. Although it's probably too late now to salvage your friendship, I hope you can at least bury the issue Vegeta and take it up with the one who really is to blame: me. If I weren't such coward, I'd apologize to Vegeta for loosing him his friend.  
  
I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me, even though I don't deserve it.  
  
Your Brother, Radditz'  
  
The world was going crazy. His head was starting to throb with all the confusion. he just wanted to hide.  
  
"Bulma," He croaked. "Can you give me a lift? I don't think I can be here right now."  
  
The blue-eyed girl looked at him with concern, but nodded. "Sure,"  
  
They headed out into the parking lot and Goku was glad that Bulma had curbed her inquisitive instincts and had not asked what was wrong. He didn't think he could handle discussing this yet.  
  
He could not go home, at least not yet, and so he gave directions to a friend's house.  
  
"Goku?" She said as they pulled into the cramped parking lot. "Are you sure you want to stay **here**?" Her nose crinkled. "This neighborhood looks tough."  
  
"Yeah." He said as he opened the door and stepped out. "Thanks for the ride, Bulma."  
  
"Anytime, Goku." She said nervously.  
  
He watched her as she quickly sped away from the tenement building. Shaking his head he entered the building, and quickly checked the directory. Yes, exactly where he'd been four years previous.  
  
He smacked the up button, and got into the lift. It reeked of urine and cheap stale booze, and the elevator seemed so achingly slow as his ascended ten stories.  
  
Finally the doors released, and he dashed out, breathing in the stale air of the corridor.  
  
He headed down the hall, dread building and sitting on his chest. He stood in front of the door for a moment before knocking.  
  
He heard the locks clatter as they came undone and the bolt slide back. He held his breath in nervous anticipation. A shiny head appeared, and he recognized the man peering through the crack vaguely as Vegeta's stepfather. He'd never seen the man this close, and Vegeta certainly hadn't been very open about him. Goku swallowed a ball of nervous energy, and prepared himself to speak.  
  
"Is Vegeta here?" He asked.  
  
"No," Goku's heart fell, "He's next door." A finger pointed to the previous door.  
  
"Thanks." Goku stuttered out and headed to the other door.  
  
His arm felt lead as he knocked upon the door. He could hear the gentle chatter of the television and the soft hum of an electric guitar. Radditz used to play an electric guitar, he remembered. It always fed back an annoying screech; he used to complain ---  
  
He braced himself as the door opened and a familiar eye peered at him.  
  
"Who is it?" Another friendly voice called from within.  
  
"A friend of mine, nothing important." Vegeta said quickly, opening the door wider and sliding out. "I'll be gone a minute,"  
  
"Fine!" Replied the voice. If he'd said more, Goku didn't know, as Vegeta firmly shut the door behind him.  
  
One look at the shorter man's face and he wanted to throttle Radditz as the source of the cause of that tense and pale face. What had his family done to this man? What sort of person would Vegeta have been had it not been for the interference of himself and his brother?  
  
He probably would have taken over Radditz's role of captain on the soccer team. They'd probably still take karate lessons together. They'd probably still be friends. Vegeta might even date girls. He probably wouldn't scowl half so much either. Oh gods what had they done.  
  
"What do you want?" Vegeta said sharply, eyes narrowed in suspicion. The guilt he felt for all the indifference he'd treated the other boy for the last two years, and the contempt for the last six months heaped upon him.  
  
"I-I-I--" The words were stuck in his throat, and he found himself instead thrusting the letter gripped in his clammy hands towards Vegeta.  
  
Vegeta took it gently, and read the one page of stationary carefully, his face blank. He proceeded then to carefully fold it back and handed it to Goku.  
  
"What happened that night?" Goku found himself asking, to shocking himself.  
  
"You really want to know?" Vegeta asked flatly.  
  
"I think it's time that I listened."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He spat the last of the minty residue into the sink and rinsed it down. He readjusted the too large t-shirt as it again slid from his shoulder. He really ought to get rid of it; it had a large rip in the collar from when his stepfather had tried to bar his escape into his room. Still the faded navy shirt with the acronym for the downtown police department brought forth a feeling of comfort.  
  
He winced at the loud burst of drunken laughter down the hall of the rest of his teammates. It reminded him --- he gritted his teeth and forced the memory to stop.  
  
He turned to open the door and return to Goku's room, only to find Radditz entering. They stared at each other silently for a moment, and Vegeta noted the drunken haze that had taken possession of Radditz's normally sharper hawk-like eyes. He could feel the hairs on his spine rise in a defensive mode.  
  
Radditz smiled at him, flashing his brilliant white teeth that most the girls at OSHS found hypnotizing. He stumbled over to the large bathtub, ran the faucet for a moment, before sticking his head under the rushing water. As soon as the cool liquid had drenched his head, he stood and rubbed a towel over his mane of hair, currently curtailed from making a violent mess by a rubber band.  
  
He didn't know why he hadn't left yet, for some reason his legs felt like they were weighted with sandbags. He should leave.  
  
He turned to do so, only to be turned about clumsily by Radditz, who had an idiotic grin on his face. The stench of alcohol was prominent on his breath, given to him and his friends under the promise that they would not drive home until they were sober, keys taken as a defense against such an action.  
  
He wrenched his arm free, only to feel fingers along his jaw line, holding tightly, but not painfully. His stomach turned as his spine hunched in apprehension.  
  
"You did real well t'day."  
  
"Thanks." He said, reaching with his other hand to brace himself against the side of the sink.  
  
Unexpectedly, Radditz pressed his face closer, and sooner still were Radditz's lips pressed against his. He felt frozen in the moment as a moist and insisting tongue pressed against his lips. His stomach threatened to revolt and bring up the celebratory pizza, and he tried to turn away, but hands had locked around his hips, and he felt something warm that was far too thin to be Radditz's leg press against his thigh.  
  
Hot breath bore down upon him, bitter with the scent of alcohol. The bile rose up higher in his throat, threatening to spill through his teeth, it was so much like ---- Would he force ----?  
  
Someone barging saved him, unfortunately, it resulted in him being pushed to the floor much like a rag doll.  
  
"Dirty little faggot, get the fuck off me!" Radditz snapped, wiping his hand across his mouth, and then spitting at him. "I'm not a fucking queer!" He shouted, loud enough that it shut up the partiers in the other room.  
  
He couldn't even look at Goku as he stood, head bowed like a beat dog, as he dodged his way out of the bathroom, passing by all the stunned faces of his former teammates who were cheering him on not but four hours ago. He headed quickly down the staircase, snatching his satchel at the bottom of the staircase, and shoving his feet into the sneakers he'd left at the front door. He headed out of doors quickly, walking down the three blocks at a swift pace towards the bus stop.  
  
'Dirty little faggot' kept repeating in his head, and as he sat shivering in the tiny enclosure awaiting the arrival of the ten-thirty bus. He wondered if perhaps Radditz wasn't right. He had to have done something, something to attract that sort of attention.  
  
Was it possible that he was gay and didn't know it? It would certainly explain a lot, why he always found himself in these sorts of situations. Except if he was gay, shouldn't he feel, well, happy that Radditz had come on to him? Radditz certainly was good looking, as well as ---. If he was gay why did they make his skin crawl and make him ache for a long hot shower and steel wool?  
  
He could think of no other explanation, however, as he heard the bus approach. He was gay.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Not to be cruel, but it really doesn't matter."  
  
"If there's anything I can ---"  
  
"There's nothing you can do right now, if you want I can call you a taxi home?"  
  
"That's okay, I've got my cell phone."  
  
"Watch out for yourself then."  
  
Vegeta shut the door behind him; feeling as those cement bricks had been heaped upon his chest quite liberally. He couldn't face Piccolo in this state, he'd ask what was wrong, and Vegeta wasn't sure he wouldn't be able to stop himself from telling the whole gruesome story.  
  
He thought he'd figured this out four years ago. He was here, he was queer, and he was in love with Piccolo. Why did Goku have to tell him now? He was happy.  
  
His ordered universe was in chaos now, firmly held beliefs tossed out the window with a letter and an apology. The doubts he thought he'd freed himself of when he woke up content after a night in Piccolo's bed came back with sharpened teeth.  
  
What if, what if, what if.  
  
His head began to throb as he vaguely began to ponder over the truths he had held self-evident in his life, and question how 'evident' they really were.  
  
Desperately, after a moments reflection, he tried to focus on what Piccolo and Nail were singing, wanting to forget what he'd seen.  
  
"And I find it kinda funny  
  
I find it kinda sad  
  
The dreams in which I'm dying  
  
Are the best I've ever had  
  
I find it hard to tell you  
  
I find it hard to take  
  
When people run it circles  
  
It's a very very:  
  
Mad world.."  
  
  
  
It was a fucking mad world, and he felt he was in the center stage of it.  
  
He went into the kitchen and fetched a couple of plastic grocery bags, before heading into his and Piccolo's shared bedroom. He threw all his clothes in quickly, as well as a few CDs that he'd burned recently.  
  
"Hey, who was that?" Piccolo asked, as he poked his head in through the doorway. "And why are you packing up?" He continued with a frown that rent at Vegeta's heart.  
  
"It was an old friend coming to make amends." Vegeta replied flatly, not trusting himself to look at Piccolo, instead paying far more attention than necessary in the tying of the plastic bags.  
  
"And what does that have to do with you packing up your things?" Piccolo said sharply.  
  
"He showed me a letter his brother Radditz had just sent him." Vegeta said, finding the courage to look Piccolo in the eye. "I need a few days to think over things. and it will be easier back in my own room."  
  
Piccolo frowned harshly at that, but he was in no position to object.  
  
"Are you sure that I can't help you?"  
  
"This is something I need to do on my own." Vegeta sighed, collecting up his bags. He walked over to Piccolo, and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be back soon, I promise."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Next Chapter: Stalking Shadows  
  
~ Vegeta is forced to clean out his closet. Chichi awakens. And a crime is committed ~ 


	14. Lamentations

WARNING! ACHTUNG!: Serious SERIOUS issues dealt with inside. Vital to plot! Squeamish please turn away! To say would give away, but please, be warned this chapter is INTENSE.  
  
Chapter Fourteen: Lamentations  
  
She awoke in the dark to the hum of machines. It took her a moment before she realized she was in the hospital. Panic rushed through her veins in equal amounts with relief. She was caught, she was in trouble, but she also could quit pretending. and perhaps even save her grandmother's locket.  
  
The nurse peeked her head in the door, and waved at her slightly. She felt so weak right now.  
  
"Good, you're up, we almost lost you last night." The nurse said brusquely as she set about to check the machines that encircled her.  
  
She'd almost died last night, the thought sat ill in her stomach. She'd always known the risk was there, but she'd never considered it could happen to her. She only took the best, she only took it in moderation. but she hadn't last night. She'd been so worried about making a fool of herself that she'd done exactly that.  
  
And the worst of it was, she'd kill for another snort just about now.  
  
"I suppose you'll be wanting some breakfast." The nurse said as she finished her notations on the clipboard. "As well as something for the craving."  
  
With that the nurse bustled out, leaving Chichi alone for a moment. What would they give her to take away the craving? It had to be some miracle drug that they only gave out by prescription; otherwise she would have caught onto it ages ago.  
  
Soon enough the nurse came back with a bowl of cold cereal and something large wrapped in foil in paper. As the tray was set on her small lap table, she assessed the meager breakfast: Cheerios and milk, with a few slices of fruit, as well as a chocolate bar.  
  
"I suggest you eat some of the chocolate first, to take an edge off." The nurse said, pulling up a chair beside her.  
  
"Chocolate helps, does it?" She said as she started to pick away the foil.  
  
"Same plant makes chocolate and coke." The nurse said; her nose already buried in her romance novel.  
  
"Oh." She said as she took a small nibble of the hard brown substance.  
  
Her stomach certainly didn't seem to agree with food at the moment, but she fought the nausea down long enough to feel a little better as whatever cocaine and chocolate had in common started to work.  
  
She worked her way through half of her breakfast, before halting, knowing she probably shouldn't over do it. She didn't treasure the idea of vomiting all over herself.  
  
"When do visiting hours begin?"  
  
"Eight o'clock." The nurse replied absently, still engrossed in her novel.  
  
The clock near her bedside said it was six o'clock. Which meant that she had two hours to prepare herself for the guilt and questions to come..  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
She'd returned to the dance, and Yamucha, as soon as it became clear that she would be of no help to Chichi or her family. Her Uncle had been downright suspicious of her, although as Chief of Police for the area, she supposed he had right to be.  
  
The dance had been a bust, for her anyway, after Chichi's dramatic exit. She'd made it back in time, however, to get her picture taken with Yamucha and a few dances in. It was bittersweet to hear Chichi and Goku called up for their roles as Prom King and Queen. Yamucha and herself were the Prince and Princess, and they instead took their friends' dance. It wasn't quite the same, however, and Bulma begged off the usual festivities and she went home.  
  
How could Chichi have been on coke this whole time? Why hadn't she noticed? She was supposed to be Chichi's friend.  
  
Not that it mattered now, she thought, as she searched through the card shop. Although it was rather hard to find a: 'I'm sorry you overdosed!' card. Her guilt would not help Chichi recover. The only thing she could do for Chichi now was to be there for her. Rehab would be a bitch, judging on what she remembered of that Sandra Bullock comedy "28 Days".  
  
She finally found a benign blank card with a cute kitten, and found an envelope. She'd give it to Chichi with her crown, if she could find out where the hell Goku was. She'd called his house earlier, but his father had instantly begged her if she knew where he was. It wasn't like Goku to leave without telling anyone where he was going. She'd tried calling his cell phone, but had only received his damn answering service.  
  
Yamucha would know where he was, or at least know of someone who might know where Goku had run off to in that run-down apartment sky rise. She only hesitated calling him, as he'd gone off with Krillen, and knowing the two of them they'd probably gotten totally smashed. Yamucha with a hangover was rarely if ever comprehendible.  
  
She'd just have to wait for the idiot to sober up then.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Yamucha groaned as he pressed his hands against his throbbing temples.  
  
"Krillen, what the fuck did we drink last night?"  
  
"Don't you mean what **didn't** we drink?" Krillen hissed as he tried to nurse his own "Gah. I've got dog hair." He said he rubbed his tongue repeatedly across the roof of his mouth trying to remove the disgusting taste.  
  
The two boys cringed as the shrill bell of a cell phone went off.  
  
Yamucha fumbled through the couch and eventually found the ringing demon. He winced at the sharp voice that came through the line.  
  
"Who is it?" Krillen asked as he began to set the couch back to rights.  
  
"Bulma." Yamucha groaned, and Krillen winced in sympathy, as he was unlikely to get it from his girlfriend.  
  
"One minute." Yamucha said, pulling his head away from the phone. "Krillen have you seen Goku?"  
  
"No. I thought he'd be at the hospital with Chichi."  
  
"I'm here!" came a muffled voice.  
  
"Hold on a minute, Bulma." Yamucha said, throwing down the phone.  
  
Krillen's house was a wreck, and somewhere underneath all the garbage was Goku, if they could find him.  
  
"Goku, can you get up yet?"  
  
"Don't shout. It hurts!" Goku groaned from somewhere near the front entry.  
  
The two hung over boys stumbled towards the closet, and opening the door, and were surprised to see their friend spill out with a moan. The stench of hard liquor permeated the air, and several bottles tinkled after Goku.  
  
"When did you get here, Goku?" Krillen asked.  
  
"One o'clock." Goku mumbled as he tried to cover his head.  
  
"Chichi's in the hospital." Yamucha said.  
  
"I know." Goku whimpered.  
  
"What happened to her? She just passed out when she saw me. I didn't know I was that ugly." Krillen joked.  
  
"Overdose." Goku grunted.  
  
"What!?!" His two friends exclaimed.  
  
"Not so loud!" Goku whined.  
  
"Bulma says she wants you to go with her to the hospital to visit."  
  
"Tell her as soon as I sober up." Goku sighed, before vomiting across the floor.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Every Saturday he normally headed down to his and his stepfather's mailbox. They rarely ever got anything other than junk mail, and what little of import that they did receive could wait a few days before being replied to.  
  
He took the large wad of mail over to the rickety old table and immediately began tossing out all the credit card applications (the last thing his stepfather needed was a platinum card with no limit) and the sex toy catalogs. All there was left was the usual request for rent.  
  
And one other that had his heart in his throat: the response from Harvard.  
  
He'd sent his application in early December, but had not received a reply in January, and had figured that he had not accepted. He had not figured that he would, seeing as he had practically no money to give them. Harvard had been a far off dream, an application that he'd sent in as a joke, really, expecting that he'd enroll in Orange Star Community College next semester.  
  
It was thick, and heavy in his hand. It had to be a refusal; they'd probably just returned his application to him.  
  
His heart was thudding in his chest at the possibilities that lay before him. Humiliation or a future lay in his hands. His trembling hands tore into the large white envelope eagerly, as he pulled out a sheaf of papers.  
  
'Dear Mr. Vegeta Saiyajinn  
  
Due to a computer failure we were unable to send our response to all those that applied for early admission in the fall. We apologize for the inconvenience.  
  
Mr. Saiyajinn you have been accepted to Harvard College. Please review the materials we have sent you, and complete any additional pre-term course work assigned. Freshman should arrive by August 20th for pre-term seminars.  
  
Congratulations and we hope to see you in October,'  
  
The breath had been knocked out of his chest, and his throat was closed in fear. There was no way he could pay tuition unless they'd drastically reduced it. He'd have to work full time just to pay the community college's fees.  
  
There was another letterhead underneath his acceptance letter, and he turned to it with curiosity.  
  
'Dear Mr. Saiyajinn,  
  
You have been seen by our financial aid staff to have significant need. Under the conditions that you graduate from your high school with at least a 3.0 average, and maintain a 2.0 average through your years at Harvard, we are honored to present you with a full-ride scholarship to Harvard College.  
  
Congratulations,'  
  
His head felt funny and light, and he braced himself on t he table to make sure he didn't spill to the floor.  
  
He'd got in. He'd made it to Harvard. He was out of this shit hole. He was fucking free. A couple hundred for a bus ticket could be raised over the summer, and he'd be out of this place.  
  
He raced up the staircase, eager to share the news with his stepfather. Perhaps the information that he'd succeeded in being accepted to one of the most prestigious schools in the nation would pull him out of the depression he seemed to be suffering.  
  
The stairs seemed to fly underneath his feet as he quickly found himself in front of his door. He threw open the door in his excitement.  
  
"Dad! Dad!" He said, waving his acceptance letter.  
  
He stopped however, when he saw that his father was not alone in the room. Kold was there also, dressed in a slate gray suit. There was a grim look upon his stepfather's face, and malevolent look in Kold's eye. The familiar feeling of the flesh crawling came over him.  
  
"I'm sorry." He said immediately, bowing his head slightly. "It is high time I left anyway. You can contact me on my cell phone." Kold drawled as he made his way towards the door.  
  
He paused for a moment to stare at Vegeta, and Vegeta felt his muscles involuntarily tense. This man was creepy, creepier than the average dealer at any rate.  
  
He gave a shuddering sigh of relief as the door slammed shut.  
  
"So, what did you want to tell me?" His stepfather asked, heading into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.  
  
"I - I got into Harvard College. For free." He said after a moment, the enthusiasm he'd been feeling minutes earlier coming back to him quickly.  
  
"Oh, that's nice." His stepfather said idly.  
  
"Nice?" Vegeta said with disbelief. "It wonderful. Harvard is one of the greatest institutions in the States, even the world!"  
  
"You know, I'm not stupid. I know what Harvard is. I did get my diploma." Frieza said coldly, as he sipped the coffee.  
  
"I - I just wanted for you to be excited for me."  
  
"It's great, you're going to Harvard, good for you."  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing. What does it matter? You're leaving." Frieza snorted.  
  
"Tell me what's wrong." Vegeta demanded. "You said you were quitting, what was Kold doing here then?"  
  
"There's been --- 'discrepancies'." Frieza sighed.  
  
Vegeta felt his stomach drop out from underneath him. His father must have been pinching money or snorting too much of whatever. and Kold obviously would not be pleased. He'd most likely show his displeasure in a hail of bullet fire.  
  
"How much money do you owe?" He asked, dreading the amount. Dealers didn't deal with missing twenties. if money went missing it could be in the thousands. "And when does Kold want it."  
  
"A hundred thousand or so." Frieza shrugged. "Kold's arranged a trade off."  
  
Rarely, if ever in the history of contraband, Vegeta thought, were people in Frieza and Kold's line of work ever arranged 'trade offs'. His stepfather and he had little to nothing of value. There was a beat up old Continental out in the parking lot, but even if they hocked everything they owned they wouldn't come close to even a thousand dollars.  
  
"What does he want?"  
  
Frieza stared at him for a moment, looking him up and down.  
  
"Why? You don't care; you probably wouldn't help me. After all, you just want to run off to your fancy college and forget that you're even related to me. What does it matter if I die? So some people will have a harder time getting their daily smack dose, somebody here will quickly replace me."  
  
"I care if you die." Vegeta said softly. "You've been there for me, when I needed it." He paused. "If you hold him off for a few more months, you could come with me to Boston, bus tickets aren't that expensive, and he'd never find you there. You get into one of their rehab clinics and then --"  
  
Sure, Frieza had humiliated and beat him, but that was the past. The man he had been getting to know since December was someone he could eventually care for as family.  
  
"You'd help me, no matter what then."  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"That's what Kold wants."  
  
"Wants what, me?" Vegeta frowned. He'd agreed to help his stepfather, but the idea of working with Kold was something he definitely didn't want to do.  
  
"He wants you to service him and his partner." Frieza said flatly.  
  
"What?" Vegeta asked, feeling alternately that he was bathing in ice water, and that someone had pickled his brain in kerosene and then thrown a match on it.  
  
"He wants you to be his and Cooler's fuck toy for a night." Frieza snapped. "For a Harvard wannabe I thought you'd be smarter."  
  
"I can't." He replied, his chest thudding painfully.  
  
"What do you mean 'you can't'?" Frieza snarled, his irritation turning to fury as he grabbed Vegeta's forearm roughly and drew him closer. "You fuck that faggot boyfriend of yours next door neighbor just fine, I can fucking hear you."  
  
"That's different." Vegeta snarled. "That's fucking consensual." His gut twisted as he realized that he could not scream for help and rely on any assistance. Piccolo was out to work by this hour. He was alone.  
  
"I don't see the difference. You've always been a little slut. What difference does one night with a couple of fags make?"  
  
"I'm not your whore."  
  
Frieza snarled and pressed him against the stove roughly.  
  
"Funny, you lie like one. One minute promising the world, the next whining out your refusal. Filthy little fuck. Everyone knows it! You spread your legs for Kuui, and you were just six at the time. I should have ---"  
  
Rage filled Vegeta's mind like the purifying fire of a phoenix. The world grew red, and his vision hazy. He reached behind him and gripped a cool plastic handle, and swung it in a short, swift arc into his stepfather's chest. His stepfather's howl of agony appeased him and he stabbed again, again, again, and again.  
  
How dare he say that; how dare he mention all that he had tried to forget. He seethed as he pushed his stepfather's corpse from him.  
  
It took him a moment to realize that this wasn't just another dream like those that had haunted him all fall. This was, oh God, this was..  
  
He dropped the short bread knife in his hand in time with the realization that he had just murdered his own stepfather. The blood was all over him, soaking through his shirt and quickly drying on his hands and face.  
  
Fuck Harvard, he'd never see the free world again. he'd fucking murdered his stepfather.  
  
And what if he continued to enact the murders that had disturbed his sleep for months before? Kuui, Kuui deserved death for what he had done, four years had simply not been enough for his crime.  
  
But Goku had apologized --- but did that make up for all the accusations and abuse he'd suffered at his hands for the last three years?  
  
Numbly he grabbed the keys to his stepfather's car, leaving a rusty smear of blood on the white counter top.  
  
Part of him thought that he should call the paramedics. but what good would they do? H is stepfather was dead, beyond their help now.  
  
He raced down the stairs again, although this time they seemed to go on forever, even as he used the hand rail to swing himself down flight by flight, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.  
  
He eventually made it to the old car, and he swiftly unlocked the door and dropped into the drivers seat. The same something that had suggested calling for medical help, now informed him that he didn't have any insurance to allow him to drive this car. He firmly told it to shut the fuck up. He'd already broken one of the cardinal laws of mankind, what difference did a traffic violation make?  
  
He tore out of the lot, and immediately got onto the freeway. There was only one thing he could do now. He wished the traffic would go faster. Didn't these assholes know it was a sixty-five mile per hour zone? He **NEEDED** to get to his destination, there were **LIVES** in the balance!  
  
He turned sharply into the driveway of the police station. The back tires squealed as they fishtailed, nearly hitting a squad car. He parked in front of the doors, not bothered about the fact it was a no parking zone and he would get heavily fined. What the fuck did fines matter anymore?  
  
He tore the keys out of the ignition and tossed them onto the passenger seat before kicking his door open, not troubled by the fact he'd left it open, and ran into the police station.  
  
He was most fortunate that the line to the receptionist was clear as he approached the bench where a tough looking officer sat reading a newspaper.  
  
"Excuse me." He asked politely. He was unnerved that his voice seemed to echo through the tiled room.  
  
"Wha --" The man stopped and stared at him with horrific fascination. "Do you need a doctor, or something?"  
  
"No." He said, finding himself surprisingly calm, despite the shudder starting to go through his body. "You'd better lock me up. I think I might just do it again." 


	15. The World is on Heroin

It's been awhile, no? Well. I've decided to finish this. and depending how much I have to work my ass off this summer at the fish cannery at night, well, you'll see what happens next  
  
The title comes from the song of the same name by All. It's doesn't really relate, but I like the surrealistic-ness of it.  
  
Oh and: GO CLASS OF '03!!!! YEAH!!! Bitch-ass. I'm no longer in high school hooyah!  
  
Chapter Fifteen: The World's on Heroin  
  
They had asked him again if he would like medical attention. He declined politely, saying that none of the blood was his, and if they could just escort him to the bathroom so he could wash itchy red marks off his face and arms he'd be quite fine.  
  
When they asked him what had happened, he calmly explained that someone was dead, and that they could find him at his home address. They must have sent a car over quickly, because they came back fifteen minutes later and dragged him to an interrogation room.  
  
They asked the mundane things first: What was his name? Where did he live? How old was he? Who was dead on the floor? He had responded in kind that his name was Vegeta Saiyajinn, he lived in the Riverdale apartments, he was eighteen years old, and the man on the floor was his stepfather, Frieza Icejin.  
  
Their last question was harder to answer: Why?  
  
Why had he murdered his stepfather? There were so many reasons. he was sick of the mess he left in the apartment, he'd grown tired of being belittled, he hated it when he beat him, and Frieza had brought up the one subject that was taboo to him and threw it in his face.  
  
They left him for a time, and he could just see their shadows from behind the one-way glass mirror.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Jennifer Starling sighed and flipped her blonde ponytail over her shoulder as she stared through the glass mirror at the young man sitting calmly at the interrogation table. She was West City Police Department's forensic psychologist, and from the disgruntled looks on the faces of her coworkers coming out of the interrogation room, they needed her help.  
  
"No luck?" She asked quietly in a faint monotone. Some of her coworkers didn't approve of her 'soft' approach, so she always made sure to avoid sounding critical.  
  
"Nah, he's locked up tight. Won't give us anything beyond who he killed."  
  
"In shock then." she murmured mostly to herself. "I'd like a crack at him; maybe I'll soften him up for you. Do you have Polaroid's of the crime scene I could have a look at?"  
  
The photos were handed over to her wordlessly. The first photo was of the dingy little apartment. It lacked adornment on the walls, and the floor was filthy. The next was of the filthy little kitchen, where a body lay sprawled out in it's own blood on the floor. The third was a close up of the victim, his face drawn in horror, multiple stab wounds littering his body.  
  
"The stabs are too frenzied for him to have planned this. He was attacking because he was angry, or frightened, possibly both." She handed the photos back. "What do we know about his stepfather?"  
  
"Drug dealer, one of Koola's lackeys, pretty big for the area."  
  
"Has the boy been in any trouble previously?"  
  
"We're running his name through the files right now."  
  
"Then let him stew a little bit. Something made him snap, and I get the feeling we won't know the whole story until we find his weak point."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Bulma yawned as the boring Saturday night Cop movie ended. Yamucha was obsessed those kind of films, like all guys she supposed. They personally put Bulma to sleep.  
  
"News Bulletin! Murder at Riverdale Apartments! What caused this teenager to snap and kill his stepfather? More tonight on the five o'clock news report on channel nine!"  
  
The image only flashed up for a second, but Bulma recognized it immediately.  
  
"Hey, Yamucha, wasn't that Vegeta?" She asked, looking at the clock and seeing it was five 'til five.  
  
"I didn't see."  
  
Bulma snatched the remote off the coffee table and turned the volume up, and waited anxiously for the first time in her life, for the news to start.  
  
The theme blared and the prim looking blonde blinked dully at the camera as it came to an end.  
  
"Good evening, and now to our top story: At three P.M. today Frieza Icejin was brutally murdered in his apartment by his stepson, eighteen year old Vegeta Saiyajinn."  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Goku froze as "Vegeta Saiyajinn" blasted across the speakers of the Boys and Girls' club television in the workout room.  
  
". details are sketchy at this time, but the police are having a conference at eight o'clock, and KTUU will be there to cover it. Now on to national news."  
  
He blinked, and turned away from the screen. he couldn't imagine it. They must have been wrong. Vegeta was far too. moral, principled. weak, to kill anyone.  
  
What had happened to the boy he once knew?  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Chichi stared at the television screen from the vantage of her hospital bed. She couldn't see Vegeta killing anyone. He always seemed so afraid of his stepfather. Of course he had stood up to those two thugs, who were much larger and stronger than him.  
  
Perhaps there was more to Vegeta than the effeminate sarcastic boy he showed everyone.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Piccolo stared at the yellow tape surrounding his lover's apartment. The police had already left, and he could hear Nail listening to the news report inside his own apartment.  
  
He couldn't believe the gentle boy he'd loved for the past three months could have killed his own stepfather. They seemed to have gotten along fine when Piccolo had dinner with the two of them.  
  
To the left of him he saw Juunana and Juuhachi, Vegeta's only friends. Juuhachi was crying on her brother's shoulders.  
  
"What happened to you Vegeta?"  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"I've got it!" The petite female deputy came running toward her, waving a sheet of paper at her. By her pale complexion, Jennifer guessed her to be one of the file jockeys for the department.  
  
"Vegeta Saiyajinn was mentioned in one criminal report. Kuui Masai was arrested and convicted of molesting him when he was six." The girl reported grimly. "He was enrolled in an outpatient counseling session, but never attended."  
  
Jennifer nodded. "Thanks." This was big; she could feel it in her bones.  
  
Taking a deep breath she entered the interrogation room, making sure that one of the burlier officers followed her.  
  
She didn't want to have to reopen these wounds. but if they were ever to figure out what happened this afternoon, blood would have to be shed.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He stared at the attractive young woman who entered his interrogation room.  
  
They'd left him in here for what he roughly guessed was an hour, obviously hoping to crack him. If they thought silence would kill him, they thought wrong.  
  
"Are you my lawyer?" He asked softly, his voice sounding loud to his ears after how quiet it had been.  
  
"Would you like one?" She asked.  
  
"No." He shook his head. The hour that they'd left him gave him a chance to regroup his wits.  
  
"Why did you murder your stepfather, Vegeta?" She asked softly, not demanding like the other officer, she seemed only curious.  
  
"He had to go. It wasn't as if he wasn't dying already. in fact we're all born dying. I doubt anyone shall miss him."  
  
"What was special about today Vegeta?"  
  
"Nothing. just another Saturday."  
  
"What do you do on Saturdays?"  
  
"I get the mail, sometimes go and hang out with Piccolo, or Juuhachi and Juunana."  
  
"Did you go to see them today?"  
  
"No. too early."  
  
She nodded vaguely. she was suspicious of his willingness to answer even the most banal of her questions. She flipped through the Polaroids from the scene. and stopped at one of the bloody counter. Her notes logged an acceptance letter to Harvard College.  
  
"How did your stepfather react to your acceptance to Harvard? He must have been proud of you, after you received free admission."  
  
"He didn't much care."  
  
"I see, and why was that Vegeta?"  
  
"He was too worried about other things." Vegeta said vaguely.  
  
"And would anything of those 'other things' have to do with Kuui Masai?" She said in a level tone.  
  
Jennifer was awed and slightly afraid of the change that overcame the subject. Vegeta had been slouched in the chair when she'd entered the room, his head down in a subservient fashion. Now he was glaring at her with unnervingly black eyes, muscles tight as he leaned forward as far as the handcuffs pinning him to the chair would let him.  
  
"He has nothing to do with this." Vegeta growled, eyebrows pinching together and lip curling into a fearsome expression.  
  
"To the contrary Vegeta, I think it does. otherwise you wouldn't react so strongly. What did your stepfather say to you about Kuui?"  
  
"I don't have to tell you anything."  
  
"No, but you want to. I can tell something's eating you up inside. something you haven't told any of your friends or lovers. but you're dying to tell someone, aren't you Vegeta?" She snapped her folder on the boy before her shut, standing and leaning over the table towards her captive.  
  
"I know what Kuui Masai did to you when you were six, Vegeta, and a quick glance at all the domestic violence calls and dealing busts listed on your stepfather's permanent record tell me he wasn't a nice man at all." She took a deep breath. "So why don't you tell me what happened, and we'll try to do our best to help. You're a smart boy."  
  
He stared into her eyes, and she could see the glimmer of hope in the empty obsidian eyes. She held his gaze, her face held in a passively blank mask.  
  
"He lost some of Koola's money. I came in with my acceptance letter and they were talking. Koola left. I told my 'good news'." He snorted derisively. "And then he asked me to help him pay off Koola." His lips twisted bitterly. "I thought he meant money, what a fool I was." He stopped, staring at a point beyond Jennifer's shoulder. "Vegeta, what did he want?" She demanded, bringing his focus back to her.  
  
"Koola wanted a catamite."  
  
"He wanted you." She said, and he jerked his head in a positive motion.  
  
"I told Frieza to fuck off, and then he called me a lying whore ---" He choked off. "Then he said that I --"  
  
"I'd been dreaming for the last few months of killing him. him and Kuui. but I thought he'd changed." Vegeta sighed. "Then he said I **enjoyed**," He gritted out, his posture becoming tenser, "what Kuui did to me. And I couldn't take any more."  
  
"I see." Jennifer said quietly, before exiting the room.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
"What do you think, Jennifer?" asked Larry, the state defense attorney, as she entered the interrogation side room.  
  
"It's more of a case of battered wife syndrome than pre-meditation."  
  
"What about his dreams?"  
  
"Freud says that dreams are things we want to come true that we wouldn't normally think. He may have dreamt of killing his stepfather, but he didn't execute his stepfather over his dreams. his stepfather pushed, and he broke."  
  
"I'm tempted to have him locked up at a mental institute. If he snapped over a few names, there's no way to tell if it won't happen again."  
  
"It won't, if he receives the proper treatment he should have received as a child. The only way it could happen again is if he ran into Kuui Masai. and I can't say that I'd miss that bastard." Larry snorted in agreement.  
  
"How much do you think he knows about Koola's operation?"  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Graduation was a somber affair at Orange Star High School, and not only because of the foul weather storming on outside. Their two forerunners for valedictorian: Chichi Mau and Vegeta Saiyajinn had dropped out early in the 'race', one due to drug habits and the other to murder, leaving the announcement of the winner of the prized position anticlimactic.  
  
Bulma walked up and accepted her diploma from the Principal, pausing to turn and smile at the cameras of her parents.  
  
She winked at Yamucha who was standing offside, proudly clutching his diploma to his chest.  
  
"Class of 2003, turn your tassels!" Cheered Marcus Redd, the captain of the football team and soon balloons were falling from the rafters and hats were thrown in the air.  
  
Bulma reached over and kissed Yamucha, before turning to pose for her parent's cameras.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
He glared down the aisle at the stewardess who was showing off the exits at her side, and realized she looked as bored as he felt.  
  
He glanced back at the book in his hands that he was supposed to be reading. in actuality it was a short novel on his new 'life', as it was, that he would be assuming as soon as they touched down. The agent from witness protection was sitting beside him, eyes boring into the side of his head. They expected him to memorize this piece of shit before they let him go out on his own.  
  
His name was John Simon Ritchie, born on the 10th of May in 1985, in North City. He'd gone to Elementary School #14, Jackson Jr. High, and North Star High School. He'd graduated with a 3.5 grade point average. His parents had divorced, and he was only in contact with his mother (He had to remember to 'call' her every Sunday). He was currently attending his freshman year at Boston University.  
  
His gut sank as they took off. He'd never been on a plane before. never had a place to go.  
  
Now he was leaving West City for Boston . never to come back, quite literally. They said it would be too dangerous, after all the information he'd given out on Koola's operation.  
  
He regretted not being able to say good-bye to his friends. but he supposed they were better off without him.  
  
He'd always thought it impossible to get away with murder. he obviously was wrong.  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
The End  
  
***(-I-)**(-I-)***  
  
Right, before you all kill me, YES that IS the end of Orange Star High School. It's finished, no more chapters..  
  
Here's a peek at the upcoming sequel (as of yet untitled):  
  
*******  
  
Bulma smiled seductively at the group of boys standing upon the football field, all a golden tan, wearing shorts and soccer jerseys. They were huddled about, and she could hear the deep melted caramel voice of the team captain.  
  
Sarah, her tour guide, stopped in her story of the history of the stadium and smirked at Bulma knowingly, and coughed.  
  
"They're quite attractive for B.U. boys."  
  
"I'll say." Bulma agreed, watching the tight backside of the team captain running out into the center of the field.  
  
"Another for John, I see." Sarah sighed. "You watch out for John Ritchie, he's nothing but trouble, and a heart breaker."  
  
"Uh huh." Bulma said, her heart twisting slightly as 'John' turned towards her running swiftly after the ball.  
  
She froze in mid-drool, as she looked at that determined face, feeling a strange sense of strong déjà vu. She had seen this John Ritchie before. if she could only remember where. 


End file.
